


Happy ever after is a journey

by The_Kat



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexuality, Aziraphale struggles with insecurities, Crowley struggles with emotions, Emotions, First Kiss, First Kiss is just the beginning, Fluff, Gaslighting, Humor, Kissing, Mutual Pining, Other, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2020-06-29 16:51:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19834456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Kat/pseuds/The_Kat
Summary: The body swap worked and Crowley and Aziraphale are finally able to do as they please. You would think since they both obviously have romantic feelings for each other, they would get together, now that there is nothing standing between them. But breaking 6000 years of established relationships is not that easy. And when the archangel Gabriel comes back, things get even more complicated ...* A get-together-fic that takes into account the journey of changing a relationship *





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Possibly canon-divergence to the book.
> 
> This weird thing (~~<§Ö§>~~) shows a change in POV.
> 
> This is my first ever uploaded fic and English is not my native language ...  
> Feel free to leave suggestions or corrections in the comments! That would make me very happy.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

_(in which an angel and a demon deal with the unpleasant memories of the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t in very different ways)_

A few weeks had passed since the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t. The angel Aziraphale had spent most of that time in his bookshop. He walked around, examining every inch of it, as though searching for proof that it had been burned down. Some ash maybe or the smell of burned leather. But the only indication that something had happened were the occasional additional book or missing pen, even though the latter could simply be down to Aziraphale’s not perfect memory.

While looking around, he thought a lot. He thought about the antichrist, the new books, Crowley’s restored Bentley and his complaint about the tartan collar, but most of the time he was thinking about heaven. They had really tried to kill him. When he had swapped bodies with Crowley, he hadn’t known how that would help. He knew his superiors would punish him for what he did, but he had never expected them to sentence him to death. If it wasn’t for the prophecy, he would never have changed places with the demon. How could heaven have come so far?

And what about Aziraphale himself? He was no longer an angel in the army of heaven, but he hadn’t Fallen and he wasn’t human either. What was he supposed to do now? And, the one question that came back again and again: Did he do the right thing? Hell, he almost killed an eleven-year-old boy! It was probably good that he didn’t sleep, because this decision made him feel sick a couple of times a day and he was sure if he slept he would have had nightmares. And finally, he had actively worked against the Great Plan _and_ told Crowley that they were no longer friends.

In other words, Aziraphale was having a major identity crises. And he had no one to talk to about it. At least, no one he wanted to discuss it with. He knew what Crowley would say: _Don’t worry, we saved the world! That’s all that matters!_ And he was right, wasn’t he? Aziraphale didn’t know.

Crowley had come to visit a couple of times. The demon apparently didn’t have any problems of that sort and luckily he also seemed to have forgotten all the nasty things that were said before Aziraphale got discorporated. He had taken the Bentley for some long drives and gushed about it to the angel. He took a two-week nap. He spent the other nights in a bar. It seemed as though he was enjoying himself and his new-found freedom immensely.

Today, he had announced that he would get Aziraphale to leave his shop. He wanted to take him to a theatre play and afterwards invite him out for dinner. Aziraphale was strangely nervous. It was their first _official_ meeting after Armageddon and it felt _very_ official. The angel wondered why that was. Maybe, because it was the first meeting they could have without worrying about their respective sides finding out. But he knew that wasn’t quite it. Things had changed between them. Because the angel couldn’t forget everything that had been said in the last few days before the Apocalypse; the hurtful things – and the eye-opening ones.

This was the last category of thoughts Aziraphale was turning over in his head the last few weeks. Crowley suggesting they could go off together. He had looked so open and strangely vulnerable. He wished he could have seen the demon’s eyes in that moment. But he had turned Crowley down in his foolish hope God Herself might fix things.

With a deep sigh he pushed all those thoughts aside and picked up one of the new books. Crowley would be there any minute.

~~<§Ö§>~~

The Apocalypse-that-wasn’t had left Crowley emotionally exhausted. In the span of a few days he had lost his beloved Bentley after managing to drive it through a wall of fire with the force of pure imagination. He had killed another demon, for which he felt more guilt than a proper demon should have. He had been rejected by his best friend _twice_ , and then thought said friend _died_ for good, and finally he had stopped _time_ , which for a demon of his status should be impossible.

So he had taken some time to recover. Sleeping for two weeks straight had been the first step. After that he no longer felt like holy water was cursing through his veins and he might dissipate on the spot. Next, he took his restored Bentley for some long therapeutic drives. He put on relaxing classical music, put his foot down on the accelerator and enjoyed the rush of dashing through the dense London traffic, avoiding crashing in the last possible second. Then he sped out onto the highway, accelerating his car to speed levels that shouldn’t be possible, ravelling in the adrenaline of it, with the landscape whipping by so fast the eye could barely follow and Queen playing on maximum volume over the deep hum of the engine.

After some time, he almost felt like himself again. Still, there were some wounds that he couldn’t heal so easily. That he extinguished a fellow demon from existence for example. And Aziraphale.

He had visited the angel a couple of times. He never stayed long, because he hadn’t recovered enough yet to pretend like he was totally fine for longer than an hour (and any other approach like admitting his weakness was of course totally out of question), but these short visits had helped a little. At least the angel was doing fine, just enjoying earth and his restored bookshop. One less thing to worry about.

But now Crowley felt good enough to get back into his routine. And that, of course, included spending a full day with his favourite angel.

Crowley took a moment to collect himself before opening the doors to Aziraphale’s bookshop with a snap of his fingers and nonchalantly sauntering in. The angel sat in the back of his bookshop, reading one of the new books Adam had added. Crowley felt a pinch of resentment followed by guilt. After the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t, he had offered the angel to move in with him, because his bookshop burned down. And it had seemed as though he would actually say yes. But then, when he went there the next morning, disguised in Aziraphale’s body, the bookshop had been back. He was happy for his friend, he really was. Still, when he had walked through the shop, taking in everything that was restored and what was new, he couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed. Now he had no reason to ask Aziraphale to stay with him.

The angel looked up and his face brightened when he saw the demon. »Crowley! You are early.«

»I can leave again,« he said a bit salty.

»Oh, no, that’s not what I meant. I am ready.« He closed the book and got up.

They spent the drive to the theatre in silence. Though it wasn’t really an awkward silence, it also wasn’t exactly pleasant. Crowley hated it. Why couldn’t he simply get over what the angel had said to him, like he had so many times before? He knew why. This time, it was more serious. Crowley had put all his cards open on the table, he had made himself vulnerable in a very un-demonic way, and Aziraphale had turned him down harder than he had ever before. _There is no ›our side‹. It’s over._

In theory, this had been resolved, with Aziraphale being discorporated, then turning to the demon and them saving the world together. Aziraphale even kind of admitted that they were on their own side. But the things that were said couldn’t be undone.

They arrived at the theatre, Aziraphale insisted on buying tickets and they sat down together. As the lights were dimmed, Crowley focused on the play, hoping it could get his mind off these things.

~~<§Ö§>~~

»That was the worst modern interpretation of a classic I’ve _ever_ seen. In all 6000 years on this planet, this was downright _the worst_ ,« Crowley decided.

Aziraphale smiled at him. »Oh, I don’t know. I enjoyed it. All those flashy lights and red ... stuff ...«

»That was fake blood, angel,« Crowley explained exasperated.

They were on their way to the Ritz, Crowley going way over the speed limit, but Aziraphale was enjoying himself too much to care. He held on to the side handle and the car’s roof, while chatting on about the details of what called itself a play. »Isn’t it amazing, how they depict an entire forest with just a handful of dirt?«

»That was s’posed to be a forest? An’ I was wonderin’ how long they hadn’t swept their stage.«

»You really don’t have any sense for – watch out for that dog!«

»It’s just a dog, that’s called natural selection,« Crowley deemed, still he did an evasive manoeuvre that made Aziraphale’s stomach lurch, but saved the dog’s live. Still, the poor animal was probably mentally scarred for life by the closeness of it.

At the Ritz, Aziraphale ordered a tomato soup for his first course, baked aubergine as a main course and chocolate mousse as a desert. Crowley had a black coffee and half of Aziraphale’s desert.

While they were eating (or watching the other eat), they continued their conversation about the play, which turned into a discussion about modern plays in general and ended with a long argument about the best play of the 15th century. It felt as though the almost-Apocalypse had never happened.

»Soo, what do we do now?« Crowley asked, when Aziraphale finally put down his spoon.

»Well, when Adam restored the bookshop, he also restored the backroom with my wine stock. He even added some, if I am not mistaken.«

Crowley grinned. »Sounds good to me.«


	2. Chapter 2

_(In which Aziraphale and Crowley get very drunk and some unaddressed feelings surface)_

Aziraphale blindly searched for the wine bottle without taking his eyes off the demon that was pacing about his shop, accompanying his story of how he once shut down traffic on the M1 all the way from London to Leeds with elaborate hand gestures. »You should’ve seen it, angel. Was the biggest traffic jam in England’s history. ‘xcept for the M25 last week.«

Aziraphale’s hand found the bottle and he refilled his glass. »Poor people,« he murmured. »I hate being stuck in traffic. Unless you’re driving. In that case, I prefer standing.«

»You’re missin’ the point, angel.« Crowley swayed back towards his friend, pointing at him with his wine glass. »Y’ know, other demons spend hours to tempt a single person, when they could just get some cows on a street and hundreds go through the roof.«

He threw his arms up, then grabbed the wine from Aziraphale and refilled his own glass. It didn’t even get half full. Annoyed he looked at the empty bottle, then sauntered over to the back to get a new one. Aziraphale watched him fight with the cork for a while, before helping him with a small miracle. The demon shot him an annoyed look, but didn’t dwell on it. The angel didn’t take it seriously anyway. He was much too occupied with being drunkenly mesmerized by the demon, who had forgotten his story and was now idly flipping through some of the new books Adam had added to the bookshops repertoire.

Aziraphale took a sip of his wine. It was delicious. Crowley stuffed the book back in a way that made his friend wince, then strode over to where the angel was sitting and with a sigh let himself fall onto the couch next to him. At least that was what he probably tried to do. But tipsy as he was, he missed by some inches and bumped hard into Aziraphale, causing him to spill some wine and make a startled noise.

»Oh, s’rry, angel.« Crowley switched his drink to his other hand and used Aziraphale’s knee to push himself a yard away, where he sprawled out on the rest of the couch.

Aziraphale just stared at him. It was very odd. Crowley had sat there before, just half an hour ago, before he got up to demonstrate how he got the cows to think a walk on the motorway would be a good change to mindless grass-eating. It had been pleasant, normal, him sitting upright, his hands folded in his lap around his wine glass, Crowley lounging on the other side. Now, he felt the presence of the demon with a strange intensity. His side and knee, where Crowley had touched him, felt as though the demon’s inner hellish fire had somehow leaked through both their clothes and burned him. And the strangest part was Aziraphale liked it. It was exciting in a way he didn’t know.

»You okay, angel?«

»I am sorry?« Apparently, Crowley had started talking again quite a while ago.

»Are you listenin’?«

»I am sorry, I wasn’t, my dear – Oh!« It was only now that Aziraphale noticed the red spot his spilled wine had left on his lap. »My trousers! Oh ...« He took out a handkerchief and started rubbing at the spot, glad to have something to do. His skin was still burning and he knew how easily his face betrayed him.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Crowley rolling his eyes. He suddenly wished the demon had kept his sunglasses on. »I’m sorry, I told you. Just miracle it away, will you? Or d’ you want me to do it?«

»Oh, no, it should be fine,« Aziraphale hurried to say. A small miracle later the stain was gone and the demon continued with his story. Aziraphale tried to pay attention. It was not the first time he had felt like this, so he knew it would pass, though it never completely went away. This time, however, it didn’t pass so quickly. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was drunk or that Crowley was still sitting so very close to him that he could touch his leg. He regretted that thought the second he had it. He knotted his hands together tightly.

»An’ the old baker said – you’re still not listenin’, aren’t you?«

»I am sorry?«

Crowley snorted annoyed. »I’ll get more wine.«

Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel disappointed, when he got up.

When the demon came back, Aziraphale had regained his composure. »So, what did the old baker say?«

»Well, he told me to piss off. I of course didn’t. Is it my fault the flour mill burned down?«

Aziraphale watched, as Crowley poured himself another glass. »Probably.«

»Hm, okay, yeah. But I still paid for those pastries.«

»Money you miracled out of thin air. Not a big loss, I would mean,« Aziraphale remarked and held out his glass across the table that was between them.

»Wh- ah, um, yeah, but I can’t miracle pastries that taste like his.«

»You don’t even enjoy eating that much.«

»They were for you, idiot!« He grabbed Aziraphale’s outstretched hand to steady it as he poured wine into the angel’s glass.

Aziraphale’s heart skipped an uncomfortable beat. _They were for you, idiot._ Crowley’s words, combined with the touch of his hand took all of Aziraphale’s hardly gained composure from him again. It wasn’t like they had never touched hands in a situation like this before. Why was it that today it felt like more ... like something? His eyes flickered between their hands and Crowley’s eyes. The demon let him go very suddenly. The angel withdrew his hand and took a sip of wine, because he didn’t know what else to do.

»Aziraphale?«

His heart beat faster at the sound of Crowley saying his name. He looked up and saw the demon hovering over the table, both hands placed firmly in the spaces between paper and parchment, pens, books and empty wine bottles. His snake eyes were fixed on him with such intensity, that Aziraphale had to look away again. He felt hot.

»Thank you,« the angel managed to say.

»What for?«

»The pastries.«

»You never received them,« the demon reminded him. Aziraphale put his glass down and started fiddling with his sleeve, while still looking rapidly from the demon’s eyes to basically anywhere else. »I know. Still. That was a kind thought –«

»Shut up!«

»No, really. Um, Crowley?«

»Yeah?«

»I,« Aziraphale forced himself to look into the demon’s snakelike eyes. »I wanted to apologize. I guess I haven’t done that yet.«

»What for?« The demon’s gaze was still fixed upon him intently.

»I put my trust into the other angels and the Almighty. You told me it wouldn’t work. I just didn’t want it to be true, so I ... I am sorry I told you I didn’t like you and ... that we were not on the same side. I _do_ like –«

He was cut off by a loud ruffle. Crowley had climbed on the table, carelessly shoving books and pens off the edges, and crawled to the other end. His face inches away from Aziraphale’s, he grabbed the lapel of his coat.

Aziraphale stopped breathing. Now, that was no problem at all for an angel, he didn’t need to breathe after all and he often forgot to do it, when he was reading an especially captivating story, but this was different. He didn’t forget, not really, he simply couldn’t. He waited for Crowley to get his slating over with, like the last time he had been that close, when Aziraphale had called him nice in the old nun’s convent, so he could literally start breathing again. He wasn’t entirely sure what had caused the demon to be angry, but that question paled in comparison to the necessity of trying to do better than last time and not stare at the demon’s lips.

But Crowley didn’t seem to be angry and he didn’t scold Aziraphale. He just looked at him with an openness and softness that the angel wasn’t accustomed to. It once again reminded him of their meeting not many hours before the apocalypse in the bandstand. _We can go off together._ A part of him had wanted to say yes.

Aziraphale’s hand moved as of its own volition to touch the demon’s face and he leaned in closer. Crowley closed his eyes.

One more inch and their lips would touch. Aziraphale’s heart beat in a quick unsteady rhythm and he was sweating most un-angelic. This was it. Angels didn’t kiss, still he wanted it with every fibre of his body.

And yet ...

~~<§Ö§>~~

The table was uncomfortable. Crowley’s left knee was placed on a sheet of paper, his right was wet from a puddle of wine that one of the almost-empty bottles had created when he pushed it over in his haste. His left hand, the one not clawed to the angel’s lapel, was getting poked by a pen. He had acted rashly, something he always tended to do, but being incredibly drunk certainly didn’t help. Still, it would all be worth it, when his angel kissed him.

He could feel Aziraphale’s hand on his cheek, hot and soft, and he could feel his heart beat quickly through the fabric of his coat. He closed his eyes, as Aziraphale leaned in closer. This was it. He had waited for so long, but their respective sides had always been standing between them. Now, they were finally free of this hindrance. They were on their own side.

And then, Aziraphale withdrew his hand. Crowley opened his eyes, to see the angel look away. He unclasped Crowley’s hand from his coat, held it for a second and then put it down.

Crowley felt like a balloon that someone had poked a hole into. »What –«

»I – I’m sorry,« Aziraphale stuttered, still not looking at the demon, »This is wrong. I shouldn’t –«

» _Wrong?_ « Crowley asked with indignation. A different fire started burning inside him. Anger.

Aziraphale screwed up his face, still looking at the table, »You are a _demon_.«

Something burst within Crowley. With a hiss he jumped off the table, dragging down all kinds of stuff. »So what? _Ssssso what?_ We just thwarted Armageddon. We chose our own bloody side! We _switched bodies_ for cryin’ out loud! How on _earth_ can you still feel like we’re any different?«

Now Aziraphale was looking at him. His eyes were wide in shock. »I don’t! Really, Crowley, that is not what I meant. It is just ... I just ...« He was searching for words, but Crowley didn’t give him the time. »You just what? If it isn’t that, what is it? Hm? ‘Cause I know you like me, I know you do, you _want_ this.«

»Well, I ...« The angel looked really upset now. It made Crowley want to comfort him, to make a joke, anything to stop him from looking at him like that. And that made him even angrier.

»We are immortal beings! This is just ... nothing we do.«

»Oh, come _on_!« Crowley shouted exasperated. »We just downed three bottles of wine! You regularly eat astonishing amounts of very human food. Why should this be any different?«

»Because heaven ... they might not like ... but _this_... they would –«

Crowley went over to a shelf and with a sweep of his arm all the books landed on the floor, cutting off the angel’s sentence. » _Who caressss?!_ Who the heaven cares, what heaven thinks? They wanted to kill you. Gabriel told you to, and I quote, shut your stupid mouth and die already!«

Aziraphale just looked at him with those beautiful, greenish-blue eyes. Though still angry, Crowley suddenly felt very tired. »What am I even doin’ here? You’ve been leading me on for six thousand years. I always come and rescue you, when you are too trustful and get yourself into stupid situations, we share an Arrangement for many hundred years, yet you never even acknowledge we’re friends. I’ve been so patient. And that’s a virtue, something a demon like me shouldn’t have. But now, I am done. It’s just not worth it.« With that he turned around, no longer able to bear the angel’s devastated look, and marched out, the doors slamming shut behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

_(In which the archangel Gabriel feeds heavily into Aziraphale’s insecurities)_

Crowley didn’t take the time to sober up. He let himself fall onto the driver’s seat and drove off, drunk and angry as he was. It was probably a good thing that it was the middle of the night; otherwise he most certainly would have hit someone.

He had left his glasses at the bookshop. Without taking his eyes off the road, he took another pair from the glove compartment and put it on, shielding his eyes from the world.

Crowley was lost. As a demon, he wasn’t made to love. Yes, he had been an angel once, but he could hardly remember how it had been. He couldn’t remember how love worked. Feeling took _effort_ , like it was physically going against his nature. So why did Aziraphale have to make it so much harder than it already was?

Miraculously, Crowley arrived safely at his apartment. With a snap he opened the doors and stomped inside.

»What are you lookin’ at?« He screamed at his plants as he passed by. They immediately began to shiver, but Crowley wasn’t in the mood for gardening. In the middle of his main room, with the desk and throne-like chair, he stood wavering for a moment. The apartment was spinning around him; he should probably sober up. But then the guilt and the regrets would come. And his demon soul was as incapable of dealing with that as it was with his feelings for the angel. Anger on the other hand was easy to cope with. It was an emotion every demon was accustomed to, even trained to have.

Decidedly, he left the room to get the strongest alcohol he could find.

~~<§Ö§>~~

Aziraphale sobered up right after Crowley had left. He was shaken to his core. How, he wondered, had the evening that had been so great, amazing even, turned absolutely terrible so quickly?

Aziraphale tried to figure out what went wrong. He tried it chronologically. He had leaned in to kiss the demon, but then an overwhelming feeling of dread had overcome him and he broke away. Was the demon angry about that? Or was he angry that Aziraphale had even attempted to kiss him? He had closed his eyes in anticipation. Hadn’t he? Aziraphale thought back to that moment. Crowley’s face, so close. His hand on his coat. The way his cheek had felt under his thumb, soft and a little rough – the angel shook his head. Stop it, he thought, this wasn’t helping.

So maybe not the kiss itself – Heaven, why had he even tried that? Was he out of his mind? An embarrassed groan slipped from the angel’s throat. Such a stupid thing to do! He was an angel, how could he go around kissing demons? But he wasn’t, really. It was just one demon, an amazing one. Who had looked at him with these intense snake-eyes – Stop! He couldn’t go off on tangents all the time; he needed to focus on what had gone wrong.

Aziraphale got up. Mechanically, he started tidying up the mess Crowley had created, while thinking further. What exactly had he said after that unfortunate event? He couldn’t recall, it was clouded by alcohol and the feeling of Crowley’s hand in his. He had said something about Crowley being a demon. And then ... He gave up. He couldn’t remember. The only thing that was clear and sharp in his mind were Crowley’s last words: Y _ou have been leading me on for six thousand years. I have been so patient. But now, I am done. It is just not worth it._

 _You are just not worth it._ This last sentence was still echoing inside Aziraphale’s head, as someone knocked at the front door. Aziraphale frowned.

»It is past midnight!« He called, annoyed that his voice was wavering slightly. »How do you expect a bookshop to be open at such a time?«

The little bell rang as the doors were opened. For a short, sweet moment, Aziraphale thought Crowley had come back. But he would _never_ knock. Had he, in his anger, not shut the door properly and someone was trying to sneak in and steal some of Aziraphale’s precious books?

The angel got up. When he rounded the corner, he stopped dead. In the middle of his shop stood the archangel Gabriel.

When he saw Aziraphale, he opened his arms and a wide smile filled his face. »Aziraphale! How are you?«

He was terrified. He had known it could only be a matter of time until heaven and hell would get back at them, but did it have to be so soon? And at such an unfortunate time? With growing terror he thought of Crowley. Were demons heading to his place right now? He might not know what exactly had made his demon so angry, but he did know his method to deal – or rather _not_ deal – with situations like this: Getting completely smashed and then sleeping it off for the next few days, weeks or even years. It had happened before, but then they hadn’t been worried to be executed any second.

He needed to get to Crowley and he had to be fast. But he had no idea if he would even survive himself.

Gabriel’s brow furrowed to an impression of slight worry. »Are you okay?«

Aziraphale finally managed to speak. »What are you doing here?«

»Well«, the other angel rubbed his neck, »I am here to apologize.«

» _What?_ « Whatever Aziraphale had expected, this wasn’t it.

»I would like to apologize for attempting to execute you. It was a rather ... hasty decision.« With big, confident strides, the archangel went over to a chair and sat down. Folding his hands and looking up at Aziraphale, he explained: »You have to understand, my dear principality, that I trusted you. Michael doubted you, she told me you were up to something, but I brushed it off. Not our good soldier Aziraphale! So when it turned out that she was right, I felt betrayed! You colluded with a demon, you lied to us and you thwarted the Great Plan. I am sure you understand how displeased I was.

And, you see, my position also put me under a lot of pressure. I needed to act quickly and sternly to make an example for any other angel that might doubt the Great Plan. After all, we don’t want a second rebellion, do we?« He smiled brightly.

»But as I said, the decision to execute you was done in, well, anger, and that is not an emotion a respectable angel should act on. Also, I talked to the Almighty and She ... was not pleased. The greatest punishment for an angel shall continue to be to Fall. And even though I cannot figure out how you survived the hellfire, you didn’t Fall. Did you?« He looked slightly worried.

All the way through Gabriel’s monologue, Aziraphale had tried to regain his ability to speak. »I ... I didn’t,« he now managed to say.

The archangel smiled. »Brilliant! I didn’t think so. Well, there we are. You don’t have any hard feelings, do you?«

If he had –? Of course he did! Anger bubbled up inside Aziraphale. Who did Gabriel think he was, to just come here and apologize, as though he sent him an unreasonably rude note and not told him to die already? How far removed from reality could he be?

He was about to voice these thoughts, when Gabriel interrupted him with another wide smile: »Of course you don’t! Holding grudges is something demons and humans do. As an angel, you are free of that sin.« He clapped his hands happily.

All words of protest died in Aziraphale’s throat and were replaced by a pang of guilt. His feelings of anger, betrayal and even hate really were quite un-angelic. Maybe that was why they felt so unpleasant.

»Anyhow,« Gabriel got up and walked over to Aziraphale, »I am glad we got that sorted. I am looking forward to our continued cooperation.« He patted the lesser angel on the shoulder then turned to leave.

Aziraphale finally found his voice: »Wait!« Gabriel turned back around. »What does that mean? Am I ... amnestied?«

»Why, of course! As I said, the greatest punishment is to Fall. You didn’t Fall, so you continue to be an angel and thus work for our head office.«

»But ... but I colluded with a demon. Spoiled the Great Plan!« Why did he say that? Aziraphale scolded himself. So foolish! Did he _want_ to be executed?

»You did. Listen, I did a great deal of thinking, and I realized that you did all this _believing_ you were doing the right thing. Because naturally you were, you are an angel. You were thinking you followed the ›Ineffable‹ Plan.« He used a very un-angelic amount of sarcasm on the word ›ineffable‹. »It is the demon Crowley that is to blame. He used your good heart for his own devilish plan. He tempted you into helping him. It is really sad that you let it come that far, but you were living on this petty planet for far too long and a good sweep through our records showed that he has been influencing you for a long time. It can be forgiven.«

Aziraphale shook his head. »That is not how it happened. Look, I am sorry that I defied heaven. I didn’t want to. I just couldn’t let this planet get destroyed! So many innocent people ... It simply didn’t _feel_ right. Crowley and I worked together ... just because we had the same goal. To save all this life!« Desperation crept into Aziraphale’s voice. He just couldn’t help it. »I might have acted against the Great Plan, but I think it cannot have been the Inef- the _real_ plan. Because I think God gave me a sense of what is _right_ and this was not it.«

Gabriel looked at him with pity. »And you think She gave this moral sense only to you? A simple principality? What about _literally_ every other angel in heaven, sunshine? Whose moral sense do you think is more intact? The one of all pure angels in heaven or of one principality, who spent far too long on a sinful planet, soiling his celestial body with human food and drinks, while constantly being under the influence of a dastardly demon from hell?«

Aziraphale didn’t know what to say against that. He looked away. »Crowley isn’t dastardly,« he finally said.

Gabriel’s eyes widened. »Oh, no, please don’t tell me, Uriel was right.«

Aziraphale blinked. »I am sorry. What?«

Gabriel squinted his eyes and came uncomfortably close. Aziraphale withstood the urge to take a step backwards.

»You succumbed to his charms.«

Aziraphale’s heart skipped a beat. Still, he tried a smile. »I ... I really don’t know what you are talking about.«

»You _love_ him.« The archangel took him by the shoulders. »Sunshine, I am _so_ sorry. Of course you do. You are an angel after all, a being of love. How could you not develop feelings for someone with such charm and such a handsome corporeal form? Except, of course, for the fact that angels don’t feel that kind of – _specific_ – affection. Earth really has been rubbing off on you, hasn’t it?« He smiled companionably. »Don’t feel bad about it. He is cunning and I am sure he used many demonic tricks and miracles in addition to his natural charm. Just stay clear of him from now on, will you?« He squeezed the lower angel’s shoulders comradely before finally taking a step back.

»No!« Aziraphale exclaimed. »What you are indicating is not true at all! Crowley didn’t use me. He ... he likes me.« _We are friends_ , he wanted to say, but he couldn’t bring himself to, even though he hated how the archangel talked about his demon and their relationship.

»Like you?« Gabriel said as though that was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. »He is a demon, he doesn’t _like_. He _wants_. He plans, he calculates.«

»Crowley also spent a lot of time on earth. He is different,« Aziraphale objected.

»Is he? Think about it. Even if he could: Why would he like you?«

This, once again, caught the angel off guard. Not only, because he hadn’t expected it. But also, because he himself had wondered about it many times. How it was possible that someone as magnificent, stylish and cool as Crowley would even talk to someone as silly as Aziraphale.

The archangel answered his own question. »You are lazy and slow, you talk too much and your voice is utterly annoying, your choice in clothing is ridiculous and your body ... by God, you really need to go on a diet, sunshine. You really consume astonishing amounts of ... stuff.«

That hurt. Yes, he knew he was a bit slower than others and he did prefer sitting in his old armchair reading over any kind of exercise, but he didn’t think he talked too much. Or did he? And what was wrong with his voice? But the most hurtful part was about his corporeal form. He knew by a standard of attractiveness he could never compete with Crowley, still he had always rather liked his body. But a chill went down his spine as he heard Gabriel say ›astonishing amounts‹. When Crowley had shouted at him earlier, he had used the exact same phrase. He didn’t care whether the archangel thought he was fat. But somehow he cared a lot about what the demon thought of his looks.

Gabriel seemed to sense his distress. »Aziraphale, I am _truly_ sorry. If you had told us earlier that Crowley was pretending to be interested in you, we could have prevented all of this from happening. I hope you understand that we will need memos from you more frequently now and I will send someone to check up on you every once in a while to make sure you are doing okay, so you don’t get tempted again.« He went back to Aziraphale and patted his shoulder one last time. »We will give you some time to get over it, before we send you your next assignment.«

»And ... what is going to happen to ... the demon?« Aziraphale heard himself ask. How stupid of him. He was throwing away his chances of being redeemed for ... what? _It is not worth it_ , Crowley had said.

Gabriel shrugged. »I don’t know. The other side will take care of it, I suppose.«

Aziraphale just nodded.

»Well then!« Gabriel smiled. »It was good to talk this through with you. Now get some rest, you will hear from us soon.« With that he opened the door with a wave of his hand and within a blink he was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**~Interlude~**

_(Which gives some background on Crowley’s and Aziraphale’s previous kissing experiences, to get some insight on their associations with it)_

Crowley had kissed before. Around 600 BC he had first tried it out, curious why the humans seemed to like it so much. So he had tempted a bunch of people into kissing him and the experiences had ranged from quite pleasurable to downright disgusting, so after some time he decided kissing, like eating, just wasn’t for him and he moved on to statue chiseling.

He had tried again many centuries later, after the first time he had felt the urge to kiss Aziraphale. It had confused him a lot. He had never felt the wish to kiss anyone before; his experiments in the 600 BC had been down to pure curiosity. But suddenly he thought about kissing a lot. He decided the best way to stop thinking about it would be to just do it, so he found a receptive human and went with it. It didn’t do the trick. Even though the experience was as mediocre as he remembered it to be, he still felt this pull inside his corporeal form, the next time Aziraphale smiled at him, overly excited about Shakespeare’s newest dull play.

He figured he must have done something wrong, so that night, while the angel was riding to Edinburgh and the demon’s miracle for _Hamlet_ slowly started to work, he imagined what he wanted to do with the angel in full detail (solely for research purposes of course) and then tried to re-enact it with another human. It was quite a disaster.

After that, he had to admit that maybe, it wasn’t as much about the kissing and more about the angel, but that annoyed him greatly. Because if that was the case, it wasn’t desire that was driving his feelings, but _love_. For a demon that was the highest sin – or rather, good. At this point, he didn’t really care anymore what the other demons would think, but the thought still scared him a lot.

He tried a little longer to rid himself of it, but after a while he simply accepted this new feeling as a part of his interactions with the angel and soon it felt normal and didn’t bother him anymore. At least in day to day situations. There were still some moments where it became an issue. When Aziraphale got especially excited about something, for example, he was so cute the demon had to put all his effort into acting nonchalant. Or those rare occasions where he actually admitted that they were indeed friends, best friends even.

Then, one day, while Crowley was busy planning a church robbery, the angel had appeared in his car. When the demon had asked him for holy water, 105 years prior, he hadn’t really expected Aziraphale to give him some. He still got angry with him, because he called their friendship ›fraternizing‹, but he wasn’t angry that he refused to give him holy water. On the contrary, he had found the angel’s concerns endearing. So when Aziraphale showed up and gave him holy water, even though he hated the idea, just because he didn’t want Crowley to risk his life, he suddenly realized that he didn’t want this feeling to go away.

Suddenly, the Arrangement wasn’t enough anymore. He wanted him and the angel to be genuine friends that could hang out whenever they wanted. Fuck the demons and hell, he and Aziraphale would be on their own side. He wanted to act on his desire and kiss him. He wanted Aziraphale to act on it. And on some level, the angel seemed to have noticed.

_You go too fast for me, Crowley._

~~<§Ö§>~~

Aziraphale on the other hand had never actively sought out kissing. Kissing, in his mind, was connected to sex and lust and that really was inappropriate for an angel. Not to misunderstand him, he enjoyed a good romance novel and weddings were some of his favourite events. It was just that the way Aziraphale understood it, desire without love was a sin, and since he as an angel could never feel romantic love, everything attached to it wasn’t for him to try.

Still, just because Aziraphale never kissed anybody, doesn’t mean nobody ever kissed _him_. After all, contrary to what Gabriel was saying, Aziraphale was a kind, intelligent, funny and pretty decent looking person who liked being around people, so throughout the centuries a not inconsiderable number of humans, men and women, fell in love or got infatuated with him. And in 1053 BC, someone was so bold as to simply try their luck and kiss him. (Just to be clear, a number of people liked Crowley over the years in one way or the other, too, but nobody was masochistic enough to dare to initiate anything with the demon.)

Aziraphale was caught totally off guard. He pushed the person away, then apologized considerately and told them kindly that this wasn’t going anywhere.

He had been so shocked that he couldn’t remember how it had felt, emotionally or physically, but there were some more years until present day and it did happen again a number of times. As he was getting more used to it happening every other decade, he got a pretty good first hand picture on how kissing worked, and in addition to his moral worries he also found out that he didn’t enjoy the act itself very much.

All the more surprised he was to suddenly find himself wanting to kiss Crowley. It scared him. Befriending a demon was already a really bad thing for an angel, but he could always tell himself that he simply loved all living beings, so _obviously_ this included nice demons – even if they hated being called nice. But this made him realize that he liked Crowley more than that, more than everybody else and definitely more than he should.

It was a very unpleasant night in 1941, when it fully hit him. Crowley saved him (once again) from being discorporated by some Nazi spies, which already made him feel warm and fuzzy, but then the demon was so thoughtful to remember saving Aziraphale’s beloved books. As the demon walked away, leaving the angel with unscratched books in hands, there was nothing he wanted more than to wrap his arms around him, hug him tight and never let him leave ever again. And for a moment he actually considered it.

He ran after Crowley, but then, from the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the still fully intact statue of the archangel Michael that had belonged to the church that Crowley destroyed. And suddenly, the stern faces of his colleagues were in his mind, looking at him in disbelieving and disapproving sadness.

When Crowley came back with the Bentley to drive Aziraphale home, the angel was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

_(In which Aziraphale visits Crowley’s apartment for the first time and finds some unexpected things)_

Crowley had planned to sleep at least two months. Not consciously planned, of course. By the time he found his way to the hugely oversized bed in his apartment, he was far too intoxicated to make a conscious decision like that. It simply seemed like the right amount of time to sleep off said intoxication.

However, he hadn’t even slept the night through, when he was most unpleasantly awoken by someone literally shaking him.

»He-hey, what the _heaven_?« Blinking, he opened his eyes, while hitting the arms that shook him hard.

»Ouch! Crowley, wake up!«

Though he recognized the voice immediately, he still couldn’t place it. The alcohol hadn’t left his system yet, but his head already started pounding. Also, he still wasn’t quite awake, which didn’t help with thinking either. And finally, Aziraphale had never been at his apartment before. Still, there he was, looking down on him with a worried look on his face.

Utterly baffled, Crowley tried to get some distance between them, got tangled up in his blanket and fell spectacularly out of his bed. Now it was the demon’s turn to say ouch. Embarrassed, he collected himself and a demonic miracle took care of the alcohol and his headache.

»What on this planet are you doing here?« He asked, as he got up and straightened his shirt. It took him a second to notice that he had taken off most of his clothes for his nap. He felt even more embarrassed. He knew that the angel had been _in_ his body, still it felt weird that Aziraphale now saw him in nothing but his underpants and shirt.

As nonchalantly as possible he walked over to his scattered clothes and started putting them on, very aware of the fact that Aziraphale’s gaze was flickering over his body even though the angel tried to focus on the expressionist painting that hung over the demon’s bed.

»So, what are you doin’ here?« Crowley repeated his question when slipping into his jacket. Aziraphale looked at the now fully dressed demon. »I ... I was just visited by Gabriel.«

»You were _what_?« Whatever Crowley had expected, this wasn’t it.

»Yes. He ... he apologized. And ... said some stuff.« The angel hunched his shoulders. »Anyway, I was worried that demons might be on their way to get you, because I doubt _they_ would apologize. And I guessed you were probably sleeping, so I rushed over.«

Crowley stared at him. Why, he asked himself, why did Aziraphale have to be so kind? »Well, I guess I should say thank you. I’m warned now and awake. You can leave.«

The angel looked taken aback. »Wh- are you still angry with me?«

Crowley shot him an exaggerated annoyed look. »Of course I am. I am a _demon_ after all, holding grudges is what I do, isn’t it?« At least that was what the angel seemed to think of him. So why should he tell him that he wanted to forgive him the second he saw his face?

Aziraphale looked more upset by that than Crowley had imagined he would. »Well,« he started hesitantly. »What did I do wrong? Crowley?«

The demon grabbed his sunglasses and put them on, stalling for time. He then left his bedroom with long strides, forcing the angel to follow him, to stall even more. In his main room he slumped down on his throne-chair, looked up at Aziraphale and opened his mouth for an answer, even though he didn’t really know yet what that would be.

»What is that?« The angel asked, suddenly distracted.

For a moment, Crowley was glad about the change in topic, but only until he saw what the angel was pointing at. It was an upside down bucket in the entrance to Crowley’s main room.

»Ah. Well.« He scratched the back of his neck.

Aziraphale bent over to pick it up. »No!« Crowley exclaimed. »Leave it!«

The angel flinched and spun around. »What?«

»This is, um ... well ... am ... where I obliterated Ligur. Kind of.«

Aziraphale just looked at him.

»I, uh, used the holy water. I put a bucket over the spot because I ... didn’t get ‘round to cleaning it up yet.« That was a lie. He wanted to retrieve the holy water. He just wasn’t sure how to get it back into the thermos without hurting himself, so for the time being he had put a bucket over it to prevent the water from vaporizing.

Aziraphale picked up the bucket gently. Drops of water fell back into a small puddle and some old, dirty clothes. »Oh, dear,« the angel said. He put the bucket back down and turned around, a concerned look on his face. He opened his mouth but the demon didn’t let him speak. He already knew where this was heading. »I know, angel, I am careful. Now leave it. Do we want to go have some very early breakfast?« He really wanted to get him out of his apartment.

Aziraphale’s face lit up. »Sounds like a lovely idea! But let me help you get rid of this later, please. I don’t think I can rest until I know you are safe – well, saf-er.«

Against his will, Crowley smiled. »Shut up.«

~~<§Ö§>~~

They went to a little cafe close to Crowley’s apartment, which was already open, despite it being only five in the morning. Crowley ordered a croissant and a hot chocolate for Aziraphale and a black coffee for himself. They sat down at a table with an ugly pink plastic tablecloth and Crowley slumped down in his seat.

Aziraphale was relieved that the demon didn’t seem to be mad anymore. He reached for the pastry then stopped. Gabriel’s words boiled back up in his mind, making him lose all appetite. He sat back and knotted his hands together tightly.

»So,« Crowley opened the conversation. »Gabriel, huh? He apologized? How so?«

Aziraphale shrugged uncomfortably. »He said he realized I intended to do the right thing. Also, the Almighty apparently reprimanded him for his actions. She said the highest punishment shall continue to be to Fall and I didn’t, so I must have been right somehow.« Only now that he said it, he came to fully realize it. He was amnestied! The Almighty wasn’t angry with him! Unconsciously, the angel smiled.

» _We_ were right somehow,« Crowley corrected him. »Well, good for you, angel. We’ll see what Satan has in store for me.«

Aziraphale was immediately worried again.

»If you would give me some new holy water ...«

»Oh, no, my dear, that is far too risky!«

Crowley started to protest, but the angel didn’t let him. »No, listen to me, if you even get as much as a drop on you and they see that,« he dropped his voice, »they see that it still burns you, they figure out our trick! And then we are in serious trouble.«

Crowley dropped back in his chair. »Damn, you’re right.«

They sat in silence for a moment, while Crowley drank his coffee. Suddenly, he furrowed his brow. »Why aren’t you eatin’ anything?«

»Well, um ...« Aziraphale had known the demon wouldn’t let it uncommented. »I, I think I should probably ... eat less. You know.«

Crowley looked at him is disbelief. »Why?«

»I told you before, I have standards. They apply to everything corporeal I own, including my body. And it has gotten a little out of shape, don’t you think?«

The angel squirmed under Crowley’s amused gaze. The demon broke off a piece of croissant, dipped it into the cocoa and ate it demonstratively. »First of all, no, I don’t think you ›got out of shape‹. You’ve been wearing that vest for, what, a hundred years now? It fits you the same it did back then. Secondly, you’re not fat or anythin’. Have you ever watched trash TV? It’s great for demonic inspiration, by the way.

My point is, if there is something you should replace, it’s the vest – mh, that cocoa is good!« He took the cup and filled some into his half empty coffee.

Aziraphale was immensely relieved. »You really think so?«

»Of course! You should try it.«

This confused the angel for a second, before he realized that Crowley was talking about the chocolate. It dimmed his excitement a little.

»Since when do you care about that, anyway?« Crowley asked.

»Since ... well, getting discorporated made me realize the value of my body. I should treasure it more.«

Crowley nodded slowly, his eyebrows almost touching his hairline, but he didn’t continue his questioning.

With more than a little sadness Aziraphale watched as the rest of the croissant and chocolate ended up in Crowley’s stomach, while the demon talked about his encounter with Ligur and Hastur. »... somehow, he figured out that there wasn’t any holy water in the spray bottle, so he made it explode. ‘f course I came up with a backup plan immediately. Well, you actually helped a little in that, calling me. I distracted him, called myself and escaped through the telephone connection. He followed me, ‘course, but I got out first, locking him in my answering machine.«

»Smart.«

»Yeah. Somehow he got out though. Some idiot called. Probably a call centre.«

»I am sure your side invented them,« Aziraphale remarked.

»My _former_ side,« the demon corrected.

Aziraphale just shrugged uncomfortably. Again, he had to think of Gabriel. He was amnestied. Heaven was _his_ side again. Or was it?

Crowley paid and the angel thought about it all the way back to Crowley’s apartment. When they arrived, Crowley suddenly spun around. »Wait. Since you got discorporated?«

Aziraphale blinked in confusion, before remembering. »Um, yes?«

»Yesterday, you had a tomato soup, baked aubergine and a chocolate mousse.«

»Half a chocolate mousse.«

»That’s beside the point, angel! You’re not being honest with me.« He sounded seriously annoyed.

Aziraphale’s shoulders dropped. »I am sorry. It was something Gabriel said –«

Crowley interrupted him with a hiss. » _Unbelievable_. That’s not how I picture apologizin’.«

He thrust open the door and was about to enter when he stopped dead. Inside, between beautiful green plants, stood Hastur, Dagon and Beelzebub.

»Oh, fuck.«


	6. Chapter 6

_(In which Aziraphale saves Crowley for a change and the demon gives the angel a piece of his mind)_

»Hello, Crowley.« Beelzebub took a step forward and pushed the door open wide.

Crowley blinked behind his glasses, but he quickly regained his composure. »Lord Beelzebub, Duke Hastur, Lord Dagon. What a surprise!« He bowed elaborately. »How do I get this honour?«

Beelzebub was unimpressed. »Don’t bother. We’re here to discuss _you_. Because we’re not happy with you walking around freely, so we want to ... work out an agreement.« The words seemed to hurt her throat.

»An agreement?« Crowley was not sure what to think of that. »I thought we had one. You leave me and my friend alone.«

The demon’s gaze flickered over to Aziraphale. The angel was standing behind Crowley, looking as worried as Crowley felt. Crowley took a step into the room, forcing the other demons backwards and away from the angel.

»This agreement seems a little ... one-sided to me,« said Dagon.

»Well, um, ah, maybe. But in turn I leave you alone, too.«

»That’s just it. You are a demon, we can’t trust you. You’ve been in our way once, who says you won’t be again?«

»Scout’s honour?«

The demons simply looked at him in confusion.

»Well, we have an idea now. Apparently, we can’t hurt you. But we have plenty of hellish fire around. So if you ever cross our plans again – we will obliterate _him_.« Beelzebub pointed at Aziraphale, who stopped dead, halfway towards the revolving door to Crowley’s main room.

Crowley’s blood froze. He felt like he should say something clever, but he couldn’t think of anything. Maybe he should remind them that heaven had tried hellfire on Aziraphale and it didn’t work, but what if they spontaneously decided to retry?

»That is sorted, then. Leave us or he dies. Have we made ourselves clear?« Beelzebub asked.

»Very clear. And ... you had to turn up in person, all three of you, just to threaten me?«

»We thought it would be more impactful.« Admittedly it was, even though a part of Crowley wanted to believe that they were simply too scared to face him alone.

»We will take our leave. Dagon, Hastur.« Dagon nodded and with a puff, she and Beelzebub were gone.

Hastur, however, remained behind. »You are going to pay for what you did to Ligur.« Hastur’s eyes shone with traitorous wetness.

»Duke Hastur. Are you _sad_ about Ligur’s death?« Crowley asked with honest astonishment.

»I am not sad! I am angry, furious! Obliterating a fellow demon is the highest betrayal and I will not rest until you got your punishment!«

He was right. Demons didn’t get sad. Well, Crowley did, though he would only admit it when his best friend just died in a fire, but he was different from the other demons. Still, he had lived among humans long enough to notice the signs of grief and now he was spotting them in Hastur. He didn’t know how to process that.

»I think your boss just gave me a truce,« he remarked.

Hastur seemed torn between fear, loyalty to his superiors and bright and pained anger. Crowley was sure that fear would win. But then, with an ear ringing scream, Hastur lunged at him. Crowley was caught off guard. He stumbled and fell, hitting his head hard against the concrete floor. Within a blink, Hastur was on top of him, wrapping his hands around Crowley’s throat.

»If I can’t kill you, I can at least discorporate you,« he hissed, his eyes squinted to burning slits. »It won’t be nearly enough, but at least you feel some of the pain.«

Crowley did feel the pain. Since he didn’t need to breathe, it wasn’t so bad that Hastur pressed on his windpipe, but he was very close to snapping his neck. And that would definitely discorporate him, which would send him back to hell. And he doubted they would give him a new body.

He was trying to kick the duke off, or think of some demonic miracle to get rid of him, but the pain dulled his thinking. All he could do was struggle against the hands that strangled him.

Suddenly, he heard another toenail-curling scream and the pressure on his throat lessened abruptly. With newfound strength, he threw Hastur off, rolled around and got up shakily.

Aziraphale stood behind Hastur and was making weird hand gestures at the duke, who was still shrieking. Tiny trails of smoke steamed off him. It took Crowley a moment to realize what Aziraphale was doing. He was splashing little drops of holy water at the other demon. Apparently, he had dumped a handful of it on Hastur’s head when he was on top of Crowley and now he frantically sprayed the rest.

»You may _rot_ , Crowley!« Hastur screamed. »You and that angel, rot for eternity!« With a last look of pure hatred, he ran out the front door and disappeared.

Crowley needed to sit down. He felt shaky and his emotions were messed up once again as well. Was Hastur really sad about Ligur’s death? He hated Hastur, still the idea made him feel even worse about killing the demon. He was angry at the painful feeling of guilt that was tearing at his chest.

He staggered past Aziraphale into his main room and immediately a sharp burning feeling shot up his right leg.

»Ouch!« He took a leap and stumbled the last few steps towards his throne. The bucket was carelessly cast aside and little drops of water – holy water – were sprayed all over the room. Crowley’s right leg felt numb.

»Crowley!« Aziraphale had entered behind the demon. »My dear, are you alright? I am so sorry, I sprayed it everywhere, I should’ve never given you –«

»Angel!« Crowley interrupted him. »Stop talking. It’s all fine.«

Aziraphale closed his mouth but continued to look incredibly worried. Crowley wanted to prove it by sauntering as nonchalantly as possible over to his back room and get some whiskey to celebrate their survival, but he wasn’t sure if his leg would carry him and there were holy-water-mines everywhere. So he went with the most casual chair lounging he could manage. The angel didn’t look totally convinced, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he picked up the cast-aside bucket. »Where is your bathroom?«

Damn it. Crowley knew there was no way Aziraphale would approve of his plan to retrieve the remnants of the holy water, but he couldn’t think of another reason why the angel shouldn’t clean up. He tried to distract him. »Before we were so rudely interrupted, you were sayin’ somethin’ about Gabriel.«

It worked. Aziraphale put down the bucket and clasped his hands nervously in front of his body. For a moment he was quiet. Then he carefully walked over to the demon. »Crowley,« he began cautiously. »Do you think I talk too much? Or that my voice is annoying?«

»What the – Angel, where are these strange notions comin’ from?«

Aziraphale looked away. »It was Gabriel who suggested I was fat. He said this as well.«

»And why on earth do you believe him? He’s an idiot, he is no longer your boss! Why are you so stupid?« Crowley said with indignation. It really wasn’t fair. He was still trying to rid himself of this overwhelming feeling of guilt, while his leg was still numb and his throat still hurt. Why did he have to deal with Gabriel’s absurdities as well?

»I am not stupid!« Aziraphale looked at him with annoyance and a twinge of fear.

The demon threw his arms up. »Then _why_ do you still listen to him? I got it when you were under his control, you told me how strict the angels can be and though I hated it every time you used our different backgrounds in an argument, I got it, right, nothin’ I can do, I’m a demon, I should just swallow it. But now ...«

Crowley took a deep breath than fixed his sunglass-shielded eyes on the angel. »You wanted to know why I was so angry after you didn’t kiss me?« He stumbled slightly over the word ›kiss‹. »’cause the reason you gave, withdrawn or not, was that it would be _wrong_ to kiss a _demon_. I don’t hate you, angel, and I don’t want to force you into anythin’ you don’t want; I am willing to go ever so slow. But I don’t think I can deal with you degrading me like that any longer. And no, degrading yourself doesn’t help either.«

With that he forced himself out of the chair and, ignoring his numb limp, marched into his bedroom and slammed the door shut behind him.

~~<§Ö§>~~

Aziraphale felt terrible. Nothing Gabriel had said the other night had hurt him even half as much as Crowley just had.

He just stood where Crowley had left him, until his gaze fell on the cast-aside bucket. He got to work, his mind working on the content of what Crowley had said. While he took the bucket to the demon’s bathroom and rinsed it thoroughly, his emotions turned from shocked to angry. How dared Crowley say these things? It wasn’t true at all! He didn’t degrade him, he never would, he was an angel after all.

As he mopped up as much of the leftover water with Ligur’s clothes as possible, he assessed that maybe the demon did have a point. After all, Gabriel was also an angel and when he thought about it, which he had never really dared to do, the archangel had degraded the principality sometimes. A couple of times. Loads of times, Aziraphale realized, now that he thought about it. Was it possible that he passed that on to the demon?

He threw the soaked, dirty clothes into the garbage disposal, momentarily getting distracted by a table stacked with little and almost perfect plants next to it, before heading back to the bathroom to fill the bucket with fresh water. He thought about the times he had called the demon out on, well, being a demon. He was right about the almost-kiss. And he also did it a total of three times in the days before the almost-Apocalypse: In the bandstand, in the street in front of the bookshop and after the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t at the bus stop. Though Aziraphale hadn’t used the same exact words, it had always boiled down to Crowley being a demon.

Getting more and more distressed, he wiped the whole floor in Crowley’s main room and the plant room, to get rid of all and any splashes of holy water that may still be left. The question that stayed was: Why? Rationally, he didn’t think that Crowley was beneath him. Heaven, sometimes he felt _Aziraphale_ was beneath _everyone else_. But he was always scared of what heaven would think. Sometimes, he was sure he had all reason to be. But other times ...

He threw the cloth he had used for the floor down the garbage disposal and put the bucket next to the plant table. He did a last check that everything was clear, then he went to Crowley’s bedroom door. He paused, his fist raised to knock. But he didn’t know what to say.

He dropped his hand, turned around and left.


	7. Chapter 7

_(In which stuff finally happens, with unexpected impacts on Crowley)_

A full week had passed since Aziraphale had left Crowley’s apartment. He had stayed most of the time in his bookshop. He didn’t read though. He simply walked around, helped customers if needed and tidied up the rest of the mess Crowley had made, while he continued to think about everything Crowley had said.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized what Crowley’s problem was and he understood what he had been saying. But he still couldn’t decide if he was right. Sometimes, he was sure Crowley was absolutely correct and he picked up his telephone to call him. But before he could dial, the doubts returned.

He found the sunglasses the demon had left behind. He looked at them for a moment, then put them on. He had worn them before, when he was pretending to be Crowley, but it felt strange with his own face. Still, he kept wearing them until in the middle of the night he walked right into a bookshelf because he couldn’t see in the gloomy light.

On Saturday, he had just closed the shop, his telephone rang. He picked up. »Hello?«

»Meet me at the third alternate meeting point.«

Aziraphale’s heart skipped a beat and he felt a rush of adrenaline. »Crowley!« But the demon had already ended the call.

The angel put down the receiver and tried to remember which meeting point was the third alternate. He was pretty sure it was the bandstand, so he called a cab and was there a few minutes later. Crowley hadn’t arrived yet.

Just as Aziraphale came to the conclusion that he must have remembered incorrectly, the demon came up the stairs in long strides.

»Crowley!«

»Hey, angel. I wanted to apologize for shoutin’ at you, thank you for savin’ me from Hastur and thank you for cleanin’ up.«

Aziraphale blinked. »Uh, no problem?«

»Okay. Good. Well then.« Crowley shoved his hands into his pockets and started to saunter around, looking as forcibly casual as possible.

»Are you alright?«

»Of course, absolutely.« Crowley grinned. »You could say tickety-boo.«

Aziraphale was relieved, but he still felt guilty, maybe even more so, now that Crowley apologized. »Crowley,« he started hesitantly, »I’m the one who should be apologizing. What you said –«

»Forget about it.«

»No, really,« Aziraphale insisted. »What you said made me think. And I wanted to say that I’m sorry to make you feel degraded. That really isn’t my intention.«

»I know, angel. Do you think I would still be hangin’ around you if I didn’t know that? It just ... it _angers_ me.«

»Of course. Please, you must understand –« But there was nothing Crowley needed to understand. He was right, he had been patient.

And that was the moment Aziraphale made a decision. Whether or not his doubts were justified, it wasn’t right that Crowley had to suffer from them. It wasn’t right that _they_ suffered. He had to take a leap and have faith. Faith in _himself_.

He looked Crowley in the eyes. He still had his hands in his pockets and his face with the sunglasses showed cold observant nonchalance. Aziraphale tried not to be intimidated by it, as he stepped closer. His heartbeat picked up speed.

»It is hard for me to accept this – us. When I think about everything we have been through, I know you are my friend. But when I turn around there are these voices – these doubts. Who am I to judge, I am just a simple principality, and surely the archangels know better.«

»They don’t!« Crowley hissed agitated, all nonchalance gone. »Stop listenin’ to those idiots –!«

»I know,« Aziraphale interrupted him. He was now very close to the demon, who took his hands from his pockets, his body language showing alert confusion.

»I know,« the angel repeated quietly. »It just isn’t that easy. They are in my head and often I, I don’t know which thoughts are theirs and which are mine. But,« he spoke louder as Crowley made attempts to interrupt him, »I want to try.«

Hesitantly he extended his arms, sliding his hands under Crowley’s jacket and resting them tentatively on his hips. He took a deliberate breath before looking back up into the demon’s sunglass-shielded eyes.

»Crowley. Can I kiss you?«

~~<§Ö§>~~

Crowley’s hands shot up to cup the angel’s face and he pressed his lips to his. Aziraphale made a startled noise, then slid his hands further around the demon’s waist and pulled him close.

Crowley’s corporeal form reacted immediately. His heartbeat increased, hotness exploded in his chest, while he got goose bumps at the same time and his stomach decided to practice some back flips.

Aziraphale’s lips were soft and just a little bit dry. Crowley started exploring his angel’s mouth, whilst brushing his thump along his cheek intently. It felt soft and smooth and warm. The skin under his shirt where Aziraphale touched him felt as though it was on fire and as the angel moved his hands further up his back, a shiver went down the demon’s spine.

Yes, Crowley had kissed before. And the act was similar, hands and lips and noses getting in the way, but it felt amazingly different. Because it wasn’t the kiss itself that made his chest feel like it was about to explode and butterflies dancing in his stomach. It was the way Aziraphale gently caressed his back, the smell of his cologne mixed with the ever-present scent of paper and ink and this ridiculous yet unbearably sweat noise of delight he made as Crowley parted his lips with his tongue to taste him. And he tasted incredible, sweet and strangely familiar, even though he had no way of knowing.

Aziraphale reached up and took off Crowley’s sunglasses, accidentally stabbing him in the eye with one of the glass’ legs, but the demon didn’t even flinch. He opened his eyes to see Aziraphale’s greenish-blue ones fixed on him with such tenderness it hurt.

It was getting too much. His mind, his body, his soul, everything was overflowing with feelings of love, affection and desire for the angel, it made him feel as though he was going to explode or melt. He felt blessed and it _hurt_. A wave of terror washed over him, making his chest contract.

He pulled back. Aziraphale followed to keep the kiss going just a bit longer and it was so sweet he couldn’t take it. He took a step back and kept the angel with outstretched arms at distance.

»Was it that bad?« Aziraphale exclaimed alarmed.

Crowley laughed hoarsely. »No. It wasn’t.«

»What is up then?« The angel sounded worried.

Crowley didn’t want to talk about it. He couldn’t talk about it. It took all his force of will not to double over and groan in pain or alternatively grab the angel by his lapel and kiss him again. He was a _demon_ , he wasn’t made for this. Forcefully he tried to rebuild the walls around his soul, attempting to smooth down his feelings to a bearable level.

He picked his glasses off the floor and put them back on, then he strode over to the bandstand’s balustrade and held on to one of the columns, while looking out over the park. His heart was still racing.

Aziraphale stepped next to him. »Please, Crowley, you’re making me anxious.«

Crowley pulled himself together. What had just happened was what he had wanted for so many decades. He couldn’t ruin it by losing to his feelings. He managed a grin. »Yes, sorry. Bit ... unexpected. But great!«

Aziraphale looked sceptical.

»No, really. Incredibly, amazingly great. Definitely should do that again. Like, soon, if you don’t mind.«

»I ... wouldn’t mind right now?«

»Ah, um ...« Crowley’s stomach did a step dance. »Let’s have lunch first, shall we? Or you still not eatin’?«

Aziraphale gave an embarrassed little laugh. »Yes, I do. I decided that if someone can judge my appearance, it’s my friend, not my boss. Ex-boss.«

Crowley smiled widely, bumped his shoulder into the angel’s and walked off towards his parked car, not showing that he still felt as though holy water was cursing through his veins.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for taking so long to update (if there was even anybody waiting ^^). It's exam period at the moment.  
> Also, this is getting wayyy out of proportions and I had to do some structuring.  
> But here we go! Enjoy :)

_(in which Crowley has to admit he might have some issues himself and the angel and the demon make an important promise)_

While they were eating, Aziraphale chattered on as happily and excitedly as always; maybe, Crowley wanted to believe, even a bit more so.

The demon was too distracted to talk. He simply watched the angel and nodded when it seemed appropriate, while his mind was racing. It had happened. They had actually kissed. Despite the fact that he had imagined it for quite a while and that it had almost happened just a week ago, he hadn’t really believed it would ever actually come to it.

But it had. And it had had way more of an impact on Crowley than he anticipated. He still felt all fuzzy and as if he drank three black coffees. On top of the one he was having right now. It put him in a very uncomfortable position. On the one hand, he loved it. He couldn’t count the times he had imagined this and he wanted it to continue. He wanted to kiss Aziraphale again, to see the softness in his eyes and this cute smile. But at the same time, even thinking about it hurt.

He could probably take it slow. Adjust to these feelings, step by step, as he had with every other feeling before. Unfortunately, slow wasn’t really his thing. It had always been the angel that forced things to slow down, to _really_ slow down. And if Crowley took his time now, who knew when Aziraphale would hit the brakes again? No, Crowley simply had to be stronger than his emotions, if he wanted to have more of them.

Crowley downed the rest of his coffee and collected himself, going systematically through his body and mind, smoothing down all feelings to his usual casual nonchalance. Then he dared to look back at Aziraphale and actually started to listen to what he was going on about.

~~<§Ö§>~~

When they finished, Crowley suggested they go to Aziraphale’s place.

They spent the ride in silence. Aziraphale had talked all the way through lunch, excited, his corporeal form flooded with endorphins, but now that his brain returned from its vacation, he noticed that Crowley hadn’t really said a word the entire time.

And thus, the angel started to worry again. For once it had nothing to do with heaven though, but a lot with a certain demon: Had Crowley really liked what Aziraphale had done? He had said so, but why did he end it so abruptly then? Was it too much? Or did he expect more? Or something different? And what would happen now? Would they just continue as they had before? Would things be different? Would it be awkward? Was he making it awkward? Or would this happen more often?

A tickle of excitement ran through him at the thought of it, but it also scared him. During lunch he had pretended like nothing exceptional happened, like kissing Crowley was no different from the Arrangement or giving him holy water. And maybe it wasn’t. Because those things had also been big game-changers to Aziraphale, he had simply pretended they weren’t. Hoping that Crowley wouldn’t notice, that heaven wouldn’t notice. Perhaps also to convince himself that they weren’t that big of a deal. He wondered why this felt so different.

He was almost sure that he could just continue to pretend. Maybe that way this new situation would become normal, like past changes had as well, they would go out and eat, get drunk together, argue about human inventions and from time to time they would kiss.

But, Aziraphale realized, that wasn’t what he wanted. Everything else they did worked by following the same pattern: They enjoyed the thing and they enjoyed each other’s company, so they liked to combine these two. But Aziraphale didn’t want Crowley to kiss him just because it combined the joys of kissing and Aziraphale’s company. He wanted Crowley to want to kiss _him_. In other words, he didn’t want their kissing to be desire, he wanted it to be love. But could he really expect that from a demon?

Aziraphale scolded himself. There he was again, reducing Crowley only to his demonic heritage. Ever since he recognized this thought pattern, he spotted it everywhere. He really shouldn’t think like that. But was it right to just assume that Crowley ... _loved_ him? Aziraphale couldn’t help but shake his head at his own ridiculousness.

The angel was glad when they finally arrived and exited the car. He pushed his thoughts aside and smiled at Crowley, while holding the door to the bookshop open for him. »After you.«

Crowley entered and turned around, waiting for the angel to follow. As soon as he crossed the threshold, Crowley slammed the door shut, grabbed Aziraphale by the shoulders and shoved him against it; then pressed their lips together. Startled, the angel stood motionless for a second, then his lips softened and with a muffled sound he wrapped his arms around the demon.

All doubts were wiped away and replaced by a rush of emotions. Crowley’s lips were soft but urging, more intense than earlier. The demon moved his hands under Aziraphale’s jacket and like a week ago on the couch it seemed to the angel as though his skin was lit on fire and a shiver went down his spine. He pulled Crowley closer, not minding that the demon’s sunglasses cut into his cheek, and buried a hand in Crowley’s hair. Though his haircut looked as if he used an entire bottle of grease, it felt soft and dry.

Crowley pulled back. Aziraphale opened his eyes to see the demon’s face mere inches from his. He was breathing heavily; his body was still pressed against the angel’s. For a moment there was an angry set to his jaw, but then he chucked away his sunglasses, put his hand to Aziraphale’s face and continued the kiss.

Aziraphale didn’t have enough experience to be considered a good kisser, but he had enough to know what a good kisser was. Crowley was amazing, though perhaps he was biased, because for the first time it actually felt _good_.

Their kiss deepened. Crowley tasted bitter-sweet, like an exquisite fruit from a far away land, foreign, yet strangely familiar. Aziraphale allowed his hands to run up the lean line of Crowley’s chest, up his neck and his face, gently tracing the distinctive line of his cheekbone. The demon softly bit down on his lower lip, causing a happy sigh to slip from the angel’s throat.

Suddenly, Crowley broke away. He tumbled back a few steps, still breathing hard, his hands pressed to his chest. » _Shit_ , why does this have to hurt so much?«

Aziraphale’s knees felt soft to the point that he had difficulties to stay upright, now that the support of Crowley’s body was gone.

»What? Why? I am really bad at this, aren’t I? Or do I still have holy water on my clothes?« Panicking, Aziraphale started inspecting his clothes for stains, dried water drops, _needles_ , anything that could have hurt the demon.

»No, not like that! Inside. This body ... I feel like my chest’s bein’ ripped out. How come that _good_ emotions hurt more than _bad_?«

» _What?_ «

»Never mind. Better already.« He went back to where the angel was slowly sliding down the door, took his face between both hands and leaned in.

»Wait, Crowley, wait!« Aziraphale put his hands on Crowley’s chest and pushed him gently away. He could feel the demon’s heartbeat.

»What?«

»Well, explain! What do you mean your chest feels like it’s being ripped out?«

»Ah, um, you know, hearts and chests and butterflies and all that stuff you get accordin’ to all these human stories, when you l- really like someone. They just never bothered to mention how much it bloody _hurts_.«

Aziraphale felt more than a little flustered at Crowley admitting to these feelings. So he really did feel the same way! It made him feel just the way Crowley had described, but although it hurt a little, it was a sweet pain, one he wanted to cherish and keep for as long as possible. He smiled foolishly.

Crowley looked away. »Stop it!«

Aziraphale couldn’t understand Crowley’s problem. »I am positive I feel the same. But I don’t mind. I think it’s nice.«

»Feelings are not _nice_! They’re hard. By Satan, how’s a simple demon supposed to deal with that?« Crowley looked Aziraphale in the eyes. The yellow of his snake-iris had spread, covering the whites, and the pupils slit his eyes from top to bottom.

By God, how was a simple angel supposed to deal with _this_? Aziraphale pushed himself away from the door, whilst trying to collect his thoughts. Hell, if something was unfortunate about this cocktail of emotions, it was how they sent his brain on holiday every time.

»Well,« he started, »let’s get ourselves something to drink and sit down nicely. And then you explain to me, what exactly it is you are struggling with.«

Crowley made a series of non-committal noises. »Yeah, alright.«

~~<§Ö§>~~

When Aziraphale came back, Crowley had made himself comfortable on the couch. He had sprawled out as always, but made sure to leave room for the angel to sit. He was more than a little disappointed when he sat down in his armchair instead. He handed Crowley a glass of wine, took a sip of his own, than leaned back and folded his hands in his lap.

»Well then. How come that,« he waggled his hands, »kissing ... me ... hurts you?«

Crowley threw up his arms. »Wh- I don’t know! You’re the expert on these kinds of things, I’m a demon, I shouldn’t even have any of these emotions.« He kicked up his legs onto the couch and leaned back, his head hanging over the armrest. He felt extremely uncomfortable, and it manifested itself in physical discomfort. He really didn’t know why Aziraphale felt the need to discuss this. It was hard enough to deal with emotions, talking about them was even worse.

»I might be a being of love, but that doesn’t mean I am a walking encyclopedia on all emotions. And, well, you don’t want me to remind you, but I shouldn’t have them either.«

»Okay, then skip this conversation.«

»And then what?«

»Eh, I don’t know ... make out?«

Aziraphale looked taken aback by the bluntness of it. He regained his composure quite quickly though. »I thought it hurt you.«

»Uh, yeah, but I can deal with that. It just takes some adjusting, but I’ll get there. Its demon 101, really.« He tried to take a sip of his wine, which was difficult since his head was still hanging upside-down.

The angel drew his eyebrows together and tilted his head. »You mean, you hide or ... or dispel all strong feelings you have?«

»’course. Well, just the annoying, hurtful or unfitting ones, obviously. Do you really think I would’ve survived hell if I didn’t?«

»But ... you’re no longer working for hell.«

»Yeah, true, but never touch a running system, you know?« He was getting defensive. Why did he feel as though Aziraphale was attacking him?

The angel was quiet for a long time. Crowley squirmed uncomfortably, rolled over onto his stomach and downed his glass of wine. When he got up to get more, the angel started speaking again: »Crowley, my dear ... don’t you think this to be quite a double-standard?«

»Huh?«

Aziraphale mouthed wordlessly for a second. »Well, you blame me for focusing on your demonic side, yet you do the exact same thing. You fight against good emotions because, as you said, a demon shouldn’t have them.«

Crowley was absolutely flabbergasted. »Wh, uh, nigh, no! No, I – well, first of all, I don’t fight against them, I ... well, maybe, but it’s not because I am a demon, I just like to be in control!«

»You never seemed to bother to control your fun. Or mischief, anger, annoyance or revenge.«

Crowley tilted his head. Aziraphale did have a point. Every time he felt like he needed to control an emotion it had been a heavenly one, never a mean or neutral one.

»’cause those don’t hurt,« he explained.

»And why?«

»I told you, I don’t know!« He said with indignation, but if he was honest with himself, he did. Bad or neutral emotions were his demonic comfort zone. Shit. He had to admit that Aziraphale might be on to something, but he rejected it. »You know I don’t really identify with the whole Fallen business.«

»Still you wave me off every time I say something un-demonic about you, like how nice you actually are, or when I thank you for being kind to me.«

Crowley had nothing to refute. For a while they just stared at each other. Then Crowley let out a sigh. »Right. So what do you think I should do?«

»Well, stop fighting against it, I suppose.«

»Oh, right, of course, course! How silly of me. Do you want me to re-paint the Mona Lisa with holy water while I’m at it?«

Aziraphale just gave him an irritated look. »Well, you could start with not shoving me against a wall when I call you nice. A thank you would be appropriate.« The angel leaned forward and his face turned serious. »In all honesty, my dear, if one day I could tell you how _great_ you are and you would truly embrace it, I would be really very happy.«

Crowley’s toenails curled up at the thought of it, but he said nothing. Because the thought that hell had influenced him so deeply that he couldn’t simply shrug it off as easily as Aziraphale made it seem, scared him much more than the thought of actually owning to be nice sometimes. »Okay. I’ll work on ownin’ these bloody emotions, if you promise me to one day go up to that idiot of an archangel and tell him with confidence that we’re on our own side and he can go screw himself. Deal?« He put out his hand.

Aziraphale pursed his lips and looked from the demon to his hand. Crowley wiggled his fingers.

»Right. Deal.« And they shook on it.


	9. Chapter 9

_(In which Aziraphale enjoys his job and Crowley deals with the downsides of not having one)_

Two weeks later Aziraphale was preparing for a quiet evening in with some hot cocoa and a good book, as he suddenly heard the little bell above the door ring. He frowned. The door was locked as always and the last time someone had entered without permission, it had been Gabriel, but the archangel had knocked before entering. Maybe it _was_ Crowley this time, but he usually gave Aziraphale a call in advance. Cautiously, he got up and stepped into the bookshop.

It was neither Gabriel, nor Crowley.

»Aziraphale,« said the archangel Uriel curtly.

Aziraphale attempted a smile. »Uriel. What a surprise.«

She didn’t respond to it. »To make it immediately clear, I don’t trust you. You are lucky that our boss has such a narrow worldview that he twisted your intentions to fit in line with it. I don’t think so. I believe you are a corrupted liar that partakes in disgusting human things with a demon.«

Aziraphale said nothing.

»Anyway, nobody listens to me, so here I am with your next assignment.«

A wave of excitement shot through the principality. Before the almost-Apocalypse, he had often dreaded the notes or visits that gave him new assignments, because they meant giving up his comfortable lifestyle for a while to actually _work_ , but now he was excitedly looking forward to it. He wished it had something to do with children. Blessing children felt so much sweeter than grumpy adults.

»In Australia, they’re having severe bush fires at the moment. To balance that out, we need you to work some miracles to keep residents and property safe, animate some people to volunteer as fire-fighters, you may get creative.«

That didn’t sound too bad. It was a pretty simple task, because he was going to be battling nature, not human ignorance, and he could produce quite large effects with little effort.

»We need you to leave as soon as possible.«

Aziraphale nodded excitedly, then he stopped. »Wait. Australia? That’s ... pretty far away.« And bush fires would take a while to die down.

»You can go via heaven. Or take human transportation, if you prefer.«

He did prefer. »I’ll take the plane, thank you.«

Uriel nodded. Aziraphale studied her; She looked smug.

He understood. Of course. They wanted him away from Crowley, the ›bad influence‹. And they had chosen the farthest point they possibly could.

»Do you have a problem, Aziraphale?«

»Uh, no. Of course not. Why would I have a problem? Australia. No problem.«

»Very well, then. I will be intently awaiting your memo.« With that, Uriel turned around and left the shop, without waiting for an answer or wishing a good evening.

Aziraphale thought about calling Crowley. The receiver was already at his ear, his hand levitating above the dial plate, but he hesitated. What was he going to tell him? Somehow, he was pretty sure the demon wouldn’t like him working for heaven again. He understood why; he wasn’t sure himself if this was a good idea. But on the other hand, he wanted it with a passion.

He put down the receiver. He didn’t need to tell Crowley. They had never told each other when or where they were going before, they had simply stumbled across each other. Sometimes, they had actively searched for the other. But he had no obligation to tell him about his whereabouts at any given time. Hell, if he hadn’t been visited by Gabriel, Crowley might still be sleeping off his anger after their almost-kiss.

Decidedly, Aziraphale put on his beloved coat. He wasn’t doing anything bad. On the contrary, he was out to do good. And he wouldn’t even be gone for _that_ long. He would be back in no time, Crowley probably wouldn’t even notice he was gone.

~~<§Ö§>~~

Annoyed, Crowley slammed down the receiver. This was the fifth day he tried calling Aziraphale and he still hadn’t picked up.

Crowley was bored. He had visited every bar in Soho three times. He had broken into a gardening store and exchanged the failures on the table next to the garbage disposal for some new plants and disciplined them. He took his Bentley on a drive down the coast. He even returned to some very old hobbies and made a marble statue of a snake.

Every evening he sauntered past his telephone to see if Aziraphale had left him a message. But he hadn’t. Of course he hadn’t. With no Anti-Christ to look after there was no need for calls. And it had only been two weeks since they had last seen each other, basically no time at all for ethereal (or occult) beings. That was why Crowley also didn’t try calling. How did it look if he called after merely two weeks because he missed the angel? Absolutely embarrassing.

After another few days, his determination was dwindling, though. Thinking about it, Aziraphale had asked him to own his emotions more. Wouldn’t admitting that he simply called because he wanted to hang out be a step in that direction?

So he called the angel – and nobody picked up. That was annoying, but not unsurprising, so he simply shrugged and tried again later. That had been five days ago.

He decided to go for a walk in St James park. The sky was bright and clear and he soaked up the morning sun, as he strolled along the river. Not many people were up yet, just a few women in suits on their way to work and a middle-aged man who was jogging past him. The man slowed down as the smell of freshly baked bread floated by from the nearby bakery; Crowley could see the longing in his eyes.

It would be quick and easy to get him to give in to his desire, abandon his hopeless attempt on sports and go have a nice big breakfast instead. He increased his speed to catch up with him, then stopped. He no longer worked for hell. There was no need for him to tempt people anymore.

He stood waveringly for a moment, while the man shook his head and kept jogging. Crowley felt the disappointment of a missed opportunity.

Annoyed with himself, he got out his phone and called Aziraphale. It was good that the angel’s vintage telephone didn’t record missed calls, otherwise this would be getting embarrassing. But once again nobody answered. Crowley frowned. It almost seemed as though the angel had left for a longer trip. But where? And, more importantly, why? He didn’t have missions anymore. Had he felt like crepes and went on a short tour to Paris?

Crowley sat down on a bench. He contemplated what he should do now. He could visit an art gallery or a theatre play. He could go to King’s Cross and change all train departure platforms on the boards. Then he could go, sit in a cafe and watch the humans hysterically running around, frantically trying to find their train. That would be fun. Or he could buy some cheap bike locks, lock random bikes together and watch chaos unfold1. Pretty simple, but effective.

But he didn’t need to do that anymore. Satan, he had never realized how much time he had always spent with demonic work or at least planning demonic work.

He sighed and got up. Art gallery it was.

The more time passed the more irritated Crowley got. Without Aziraphale and his job the days started to feel repetitive. He wondered what he had been doing all the time before the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t had been kicked into action with the Anti-Christ coming to earth and he realized that he really had been sauntering from one mission to the next. Yes, he had had some weeks off in between, holidays sort of, which he had spent pretty much the same way he did now. But time made a difference. Knowing he could only spent some weeks idling around made it feel far sweeter than knowing he could do this forever. Probably _would_ do this forever.

He needed a job. He needed something to do, something that was fun and structured, but not to the point where it got repetitive. In other words, his work for hell. But he didn’t want that.

In the end, Crowley decided to simply go to sleep until Aziraphale was back. He put his phone on the nightstand and crawled under the sheets, waiting for the phone to ring.

It did ring once, about a week later. Crowley picked up, still half asleep, half excited. But it wasn’t Aziraphale. A bored sounding man wanted to know if he would buy a digital camera, if there were elections on Sunday1. He thought about travelling through the telephone connection and give the man a demonic scare that would haunt him for the rest of his life, but his bed was too comfortable.

He went back to sleep, just to be woken up a mere three days later by a nightmare.

When Crowley first discovered sleeping, he didn’t dream. He simply slowly dozed off, feeling light and comfortable, then he woke up some time later oddly refreshed and with his mind cleared of all annoying emotions. It had only been a few hundred years ago that he started dreaming. It confused him at first, because he didn’t know what the heaven was happening. After some disorienting incidences where he woke up and wasn’t immediately sure what was real and what wasn’t, he started to enjoy dreaming. It was such a creative experience. But not long after that he had his first nightmare.

He dreamt that he Fell. He fell through fire, his wings burning, not able to fly, tumbling, not knowing where up and where down was. Hot smoke burned his ethereal lungs.

He woke up coughing and sweating, his heart racing. It took him a while to dare to sleep again after that. But the positive aspects of sleeping outbalanced the negative and he got used to those occasional nightmares. Most of his nightmares involved his Fall. Plenty involved his first time adjusting to hell. But there were exceptions. This time, for example, he dreamt about Hastur pouring holy water over him while Ligur stood laughing. _Now you know what it feels like._ He did. It was the same pain the fire had inflicted when he Fell.

Crowley didn’t try to go back to sleep after that.

1Ideas from Marc-Uwe Kling’s trilogy »Die Känguru Chroniken«


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am still alive. I have no excuse for the massive delay... But the last two chapters will be out the next week, promise!

_(in which we get to see some ineffable boyfriends – not husbands yet, with the secrets they still keep)_

**Monday, the day after Aziraphale’s return:**

»Crowley. Why do you have this annoying automated message every time I call you?«

Never had Crowley picked up the phone so fast. »Angel! Where the heaven have you been?« Shit. He regretted his words the moment he said them. He couldn’t sound any less casual.

»Um, just ... to Australia.«

» _Australia?_ «

»Yes, I felt like some nice warm weather.«

»Uh, hu. Did you enjoy it?«

»I did very much, thank you! How have you been?«

Crowley thought about the past two months. »Yeah, fine. Can I tempt you to some lunch?«

»I was just about to ask the same thing. Minus the tempting bit.«

»Right! What about the Ritz?«

»You can’t go wrong there,« Aziraphale agreed.

»’kay. I’ll pick you up.«

»Oh, that’s very nice of you.«

»Shut up!«

»Ah, Crowley, didn’t you want to –«

»Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there in a bit.«

**Sunday, a week after Aziraphale’s return:**

Being back was amazing. However much he had enjoyed interacting with the Australians, after spending over a century in Great Britain it felt like coming home.

Aziraphale had spent his first week back mostly with extra opening hours (wether he liked it or not, he had to make up for the two months he had been gone) and evenings out with Crowley. Today the bookshop was closed the entire day though, so he had invited the demon out to a modern arts museum. Modern wasn’t his favourite, but Crowley _hated_ it. The angel loved hearing him complain about and reinterpret all the paintings and though he would never admit to it, he knew that Crowley knew. And he knew that Crowley knew that he knew.

Aziraphale didn’t get disappointed.

»What the heaven is that supposed to be?« Crowley pointed at the remnants of a tree, which appeared to be upside down and painted purple. As he was pointing, the tree started vibrating and slowly moved towards the demon, who jumped back. »It’s moving! Why is it moving?«

»It’s art, Crowley,« Aziraphale said, whilst trying to hide a smile, »it’s supposed to express, um ... ah ... Oh, look there is a video of people doing expressive dancing!«

»Oh, that’s what they’re doin’? I thought they were fighting each other,« Crowley said while still eyeing the moving tree cautiously. »You know what,« he started, »I’m goin’ to use the bathroom.«

The angel looked at him puzzled. »Why? You don’t need to.«

»Yeah, but there’s less madness in there.« And he stormed off.

Chuckling, Aziraphale turned back towards the video.

Not a minute later Crowley was back. »Humans are so strange! They even turn the bathroom into an art nightmare!«

Without another word he grabbed Aziraphale by the arm and dragged the laughing angel towards the exit.

**Monday, the next day:**

Aziraphale had invited Crowley over for dinner to apologize. Of course Crowley wasn’t really offended by what had happened. Still he used the entire meal (Aziraphale had ordered Chinese food for a change) to continue pretending to be offended. He paced about the shop, a box of fried noodles in one hand, chopsticks in the other, as he kept on complaining about the exhibit.

»Alright, dear, how can I make up for the horrors of modern art?« Aziraphale asked, theatrically pressing a palm to his chest, while a smile sparkled in his eyes.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. »It’s gonna be hard, that’s for sure. You, you traumatized me! I’ll tell you, every time I’ll look at a tree from now on, all I’ll see is this dead ... purple ...« He gestured wildly with his chopsticks.

»Stop overreacting and tell me already!«

»Fiiiiine.« The demon let himself fall next to Aziraphale and looked at him through squinted eyes, thinking about a good revenge.

»You may be forgiven if ...« He could force Aziraphale to watch a horror movie with him. It was always delightfully funny when the angel shrieked at every jump scare. Also, he might cuddle up to him, absorbed by the fear he allowed himself to feel. Or he could simply demand the right to choose the next ten restaurants they would try. »If you kiss me now.« He winced inwardly, but made sure not to show.

The angel blinked, then a bright smile appeared on his face. »It is very kind of you to let me off so easily.«

»Shut u-ahh ...« Heaven, this was harder than he thought it would be.

Aziraphale smiled. »You’ll get there. I believe in you.«

»Ngh.« The compliment made him squirm, but he stifled all dismissive responses. He would be damned (again) if he wasn’t able to control his own reactions. And when the angel put a hand to his face and softly pressed his lips to his, Crowley stopped caring. It had just been a bit more than two months since they last had been close, a mere blink in the life of a demon, but it felt like an eternity. He wrapped his arms around his angel and closed his eyes.

Far too soon, Aziraphale drew back. »Forgiven?«

»Forgiven. Hey, what would you say to a horror movie ...?«

**Wednesday, three weeks later:**

Aziraphale was on his way back from the London city district Southwark, where he had used some miracles to restore a school building. Since he came back from Australia, heaven had been keeping him busy. First, they sent him to give some blessings in Cambridge, now he was supposed to refurbish all old school buildings in London, because the government had been cutting expanses again. It was a lot of work, as he still had to comply to the irregular opening hours of his bookshop and he had to make sure that Crowley didn’t notice what he was doing. At least heaven hadn’t sent him far away again.

As the taxi drove past a familiar Bentley, Aziraphale’s heart skipped an uncomfortable beat, but the car seemed to be empty.

The angel was annoyed with himself. He hated this hiding game. He knew he was basically lying to Crowley by not telling him that he resumed his job as heaven’s soldier, but he just couldn’t bring himself to tell the demon. Still, he had to do it eventually and deep down he knew that Crowley would only be more mad the longer he waited.

Which made it even more important to find the right moment.

Aziraphale sighed. It had only been three months, he told himself, that was basically nothing on an angelic timescale. There was still time.

**Saturday, the same week:**

Aziraphale and Crowley were sitting on the couch in the bookshop together. While the demon was still keeping up the pretence of some cool casualness in the way he lounged on the cushions, legs outstretched, the angel that was wrapped in his right arm didn’t bother. He cuddled to the demon’s side, his head on his shoulder, one hand on his leg, one clutched to his shirt and a content smile on his face.

They had started out sitting about a foot apart, the angel upright with his hands folded, the demon sprawled out, his arms lying on the headrest. At some point in their slightly drunken conversation Aziraphale had rested his head on the arm behind him. Thereupon Crowley had shifted his upper body, kicking up one leg over the armrest and circling said arm further around the angel.

After some more conversation and a glass of wine each the gap between them had closed halfway and Aziraphale’s head had moved from Crowley’s arm to his shoulder. When the demon had looked down on the angel and yellow eyes met blue-green, he couldn’t help but press a quick kiss to the angel’s mouth. The rest had been easy.

Crowley looked down at the figure wrapped in his arm. With his eyes closed the angel looked peaceful and no longer insecure. If Crowley hadn’t known better, he would have thought Aziraphale was asleep. If that had been the case, he might have smiled and told him all that he felt for him.

But he knew better, so he contented himself by kissing the angel on his blonde locks and, as he opened his eyes and looked up to him, a devilish grin. The angel smiled brightly, then closed his eyes again.

In moments like this, life was perfect. Why couldn’t it always be like this?, Crowley thought.

Not that he could complain. Life was good most of the time. He had his angel, he had his Bentley, he had all the time in the world. But he still hadn’t found adequate replacement for his work for hell. He had picked up some new hobbies, but they couldn’t satisfy him. It had taken him a while to realize, but it wasn’t just the convenience of his former work that he missed, it was the work itself. He couldn’t deny that he had fun causing mischief. Though he had never liked the ›big jobs‹ his superiors wanted him to do, he loved to cause troubles like misdirecting phone connections, switch the delivery boxes of huge companies (he had once done this to two popular fast food chains and they hadn’t even noticed, so they sold each other’s meals for a week) or sabotage the London underground train.

Also, he had realized how many demonic things he did in everyday life. Was he even allowed to speed through London for example, breaking all traffic rules? That might be demonic, but it wouldn’t help hell, would it? Would he mind if it did?

He shook his head violently. Stupid overthinking. Aziraphale opened his eyes and looked at him questioning.

»Let’s get some wine,« Crowley decided and got up. No need thinking about this now. Or ever.

**Friday, another week later:**

The book Aziraphale read wasn’t as interesting as he hoped it would be, and maybe that was the reason why he kept getting distracted by the demon. Crowley had napped on his couch before, but it had been more than a decade and the last time his face had been turned towards the wall. Aziraphale was a little embarrassed that he remembered that.

This time he could see the demon’s face. Crowley had taken his glasses off and his face was peaceful. His chest was slowly rising and falling, as he had become so accustomed to breathing that he continued with it in his sleep. He looked like an angel.

Aziraphale tried hard to focus back on his novel.

He had read another two chapters, as he suddenly heard a noise. He looked up and around to locate its origin. There it was again, a pained groan, half a hiss. It took him another moment to realize that it came from Crowley.


	11. Chapter 11

_(in which Crowley gets comforted by Aziraphale and a new kind of job is invented)_

The demon looked no longer peaceful. His eyebrows were drawn together, his lips pressed shut into a thin line. Under Aziraphale’s astonished look, he let out another groan and tossed himself onto his other side, pulling his legs up.

The angel’s immediate thought was holy water. Ever since the incident at Crowley’s apartment, he thought of holy water every time the demon so much as breathed unusual. But he knew there was nothing holy about his couch.

Crowley tossed himself around again, letting out something that almost sounded like a whimper. A whimper! Without another thought, Aziraphale slipped off his armchair, sat down next to the demon and shook him. »Crowley! Crowley, my dear, wake up! What is going on?«

With a gasp, the demon came to and sat up abruptly, his head colliding with Aziraphale’s nose.

»Ouch!« He blinked against the pain. He felt something warm running from his nose. Was he actually bleeding?

»Oh, s’ry angel.«

»No problem.« After a miracle took care of his nose and the pain disappeared with it, he could focus on Crowley.

The demon had sat up, a somewhat guilty look in his eyes.

»What was going on?«

»Ah, nothin’.«

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. »Sure?«

Crowley shrugged his shoulders in a vague gesture. »Yeah. You wanna ... go for a walk or somethin’?«

The angel just looked at him. »Were you ... having a nightmare?«

More vague uncomfortable shrugging.

»What does a demon have nightmares about?« He wondered.

»What’d you imagine. Fallin’ of course. Hell ... Holy water ... Unicorns, ›The Sound of Music‹ ...«

»What does a nightmare about ›The Sound if Music‹ look like?«

»You don’t wanna know,« Crowley said darkly.

»Was it that you were just dreaming about?« The angel asked curiously.

»Nah.«

»So what –«

»If you need to know, I dreamt about Ligur. Like, from his perspective, seeing me sittin’ there, holy water fallin’ onto him, burning, dying, fear and so on. Happy?« He let himself fall back. Aziraphale noticed that his eyes had once again become more snakelike. Though his body portrayed his usual nonchalance, the angel could see pain in those eyes; pain, guilt and anger.

Without another thought he sat beside Crowley and pulled him into a tight embrace.

»Hey, what ... what are you doing?«

»I am not sure. I believe ... you simply looked like you needed a hug.«

Crowley tried to free himself. »I _looked_ like I _needed_ a _hug_? Are you in there, angel? Ownin’ emotions is all well and good, but a demon never needs something like a _hug_! And they especially never look like they do.«

»Well, you did,« Aziraphale said. He dropped his arms but didn’t move. Neither did Crowley. They sat in silence for a moment, the demon glaring at the angel, whose face showed nothing but innocence and slight worry.

Finally, Crowley rolled his eyes and collapsed back into the angel’s arms. »So,« Aziraphale started again carefully, »what is on your mind?«

~~<§Ö§>~~

»I guess, I feel bad about killin’ Ligur. He was an idiot. A bloody, nasty, disgusting ... eh. And so’s Hastur. Still, I feel bad for him, too. It’s stupid. Not bad enough how much trouble they caused me, now they even steal my sleep.«

Above him, he could feel the angel nod. »I understand. But you acted in self-defence. Also, if you hadn’t escaped that situation, earth probably wouldn’t exist anymore. You said it yourself. One life against the universe.«

Even though Crowley had gotten to this conclusion himself, hearing Aziraphale say it comforted him much more than any reasoning with himself had done. Subconsciously, he cuddled closer to the angel.

_One life against the universe._ »You almost did it,« Crowley remarked. »Almost killed the boy.«

He could feel Aziraphale tense. »Yes. I suppose I did.«

»I didn’t think you would,« Crowley admitted.

»Me neither. It was a great luck that Madame Tracy stopped me. I really don’t know whether I would have pulled the barrel away myself in the last moment or not.

Crowley, I feel utmost terrible about it! How can I still call myself an angel ... An eleven year-old boy!« He hugged the demon closer.

»So we both feel guilty ’bout doin’ somethin’ we had to,« Crowley summed up. »Amazing.«

They sat in silence for a while.

Being held like this was oddly comforting in itself, Crowley realised. He could almost physically feel how all the guilt and anger were washed away by the warmth of the angel’s corporeal form. Incredible, how something physical like touch could mend mental pains.

»T’is pretty nice,« he admitted.

»What?«

»This.« He gestured to the two of them. »Have you ever done this before?«

»Comforted someone? I did, yes. People often come to me when they feel bad. It is part of my job. Was, I mean.«

This, Crowley didn’t like at all. A second ago he had felt special, now he felt silly. He freed himself.

Aziraphale drew his eyebrows together. »Now, don’t be jealous.«

»Jealous? I’m never. Just surprised you’re a part time therapist.«

»I am not! I was simply doing my angelic work and being a nice person. Which is the same thing. I didn’t let any of them sleep on my couch though and I definitely didn’t let them kiss me.«

»I told you, I’m not jealous,« Crowley insisted, but he did feel better immediately. He sprawled out on the couch in his usual fashion. »So you played therapist, but have you ever ... Has anyone ever held _you_ like that?«

Why did he ask? He wouldn’t be happy about the yes that would definitely –

»No, I think not.« Aziraphale sounded surprised himself.

»How come?«

»I’m not sure. Firstly, there wasn’t anyone I would have felt comfortable enough to entrust my deep regrets to. But also ... I think, I never felt the need to.«

»Really?« Now that he knew this form of solace existed, he could think of a number of times he could have used it.

»Yes.« The angel thought for a long while, then he said: »I suppose, I always took comfort in God. I knew that everything that happens was part of the Great Plan. If I suffered, it was part of the greater good.«

He thought a bit longer. »And the other angels were always there for me. Not literally, I only rarely saw them, but I knew we were working towards the same goal. It was like ... if I suffered, they suffered. Because it definitely is the other way around. And you know, shared pain is half the pain.«

It took Crowley some time to process that new information. Suddenly, he started to understand, why Aziraphale was so attached to heaven and why he cared so much what the other angels thought. If he took comfort from the angels and felt so deeply connected to them, even though they regularly hurt him, it was no wonder he couldn’t let go of them so easily.

He looked up at the angel. »I’m sorry, you lost that solace. And I’m truly happy you decided to be on our own side with me. You know, whenever you feel bad from now on, think about it like this: We’re working towards the same goal and when you suffer ... Well, you can guess.«

Aziraphale looked away, his hands knotted together tightly in his lap.

»You still miss your work, right?« Crowley asked. »Me too. To be honest, I _hate_ havin’ nothin’ to do. It’s so _dull_ and _boring_.« He hung his head over the armrest.

Suddenly, an idea hit him. He shot up. »I got it! We can be freelancers! We don’t need heaven and hell. We can do good and evil whenever we feel like it.«

Aziraphale looked at him with round eyes. »But wouldn’t that be completely useless? We cancel each other out, we have 6000 years to prove it. If there is nobody employing us, someone who benefits from it, where would be the point?«

»It’s like with Adam. The good and the evil influences didn’t cancel each other out. They, the balance of them, is what made him human. It’s what makes everyone human. Without us, there is less human-ness in this world.

Also, it’s just fun. Without our head offices, we can only do those jobs that we like. Forever.« Crowley shrugged.

Slowly, Aziraphale nodded. »I like that,« he said quietly.

»Great! Shake on it?« He stuck out his hand.

The angel looked away again. »I ... I have to think about it.«

A bit disappointed, Crowley retracted his hand. Aziraphale looked lost in thoughts for a while, then he turned towards the demon and a smile lit up his face. »Anyway, do you feel better now, Crowley?«

He considered it. »Yeah. I wouldn’t mind a few more hours of sleep though. All this thinkin’ made my head hurt.«

Aziraphale chuckled. »Of course. Why don’t you go upstairs and sleep in my bed though? I never use it anyway and it is much more comfortable. I hear the quality of your resting place greatly influences the quality of your sleep.«

Though Crowley didn’t mind the couch, he understood that Aziraphale’s offer was not only for his well being, but also to give the angel time to think, so he accepted.

Also, he had never slept in Aziraphale’s bed before and even though the angel never used it, he did very much like the thought of it. So he slid off the couch, stretched like a cat and with a »wake me whenever« he vanished upstairs.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to split the final chapter into two for dramatic purposes ;). The final final chapter will be online tomorrow.

_(In which Aziraphale makes a final decision and Crowley has a bad revelation)_

Crowley had been right when he assumed that Aziraphale needed time to think. In one conversation he had learned more about Crowley and himself than he usually did in a decade. Admittedly though, these kinds of revelations were becoming more frequent since the Anti-Christ had come to earth.

So the demon felt guilty for killing another demon. The angel had held back hard not to tell Crowley how incredibly happy this made him. He had always known that deep down the demon was a good person, but he had also doubted a lot. Hearing this now had made him feel like he could put those final doubts at rest.

On the other hand, he started doubting himself once again. Was it true that his reluctance to let go of his connection to heaven partially came from his need of comfort? It did make sense. Apart from solace, they also gave him something to hold on to, something to look up to and to live for. Without heaven, he had nothing left.

But that wasn’t true. He had Crowley. And not only that, he had his bookshop, he had allies. There were the booksellers he traded with, the restaurants where they knew his name and the ducks in St. James’s park that preferred the Russian ambassador’s bread over his. And Crowley was right. He didn’t need anyone’s permission to do good. He did good things because it was right, not because Gabriel told him to. Actually, since his opinions on what was right differed somewhat from those of the other angels, he could probably be even more helpful without them.

Maybe God didn’t like what he was currently thinking. But who really knew? Her great plan was ineffable and the best way to follow it was to follow your heart.

Aziraphale made a decision. Quickly and silently, he went upstairs and worked a miracle on his bedroom door to lock it. Then, he went back down and pulled away the round carpet in the middle of his bookshop. He was relieved to see that Adam had also restored the angelic diagram that had been underneath. Nervously but decidedly, he lighted up candles in the corners of the pointed star. Usually, when Aziraphale wanted to communicate with his head office, he would take the main entrance into heaven. But today he didn’t want to go all the way and he also preferred to have the following conversation on his territory rather than Gabriel’s.

When all candles were lit up, the angel started to pray. Due to courtesy, he prayed to God first, before praying that the archangel Gabriel may ascend to meet him.

He did ascend, but he took his time. Aziraphale was about to give up and take a different approach, when the diagram lit up and a glowing figure appeared. The principality dropped his hands and took a step back as Gabriel stepped from the star, brushing off nonexistent dust from his jacket.

He frowned at the lesser angel. »Aziraphale. I really dislike being summoned like this. I hope you have a good excuse – what on this planet happened to your nose?«

Aziraphale blinked. His nose? He touched it and his fingers came away red. Oh. »Oh, nothing. I hit my nose against ... against a bookshelf. I took care of it with a miracle but forgot to clean up.«

Gabriel shook his head. »Sunshine, what are you doing?« He worked a small miracle to clean the other angel’s face.

Aziraphale gave him a disbelieving look. This was a huge invasion of privacy! Still, he didn’t say anything.

»Well, so if you didn’t summon me because you were beaten up by someone – which would be ridiculous for an angel anyway – why did you do it?«

»Ahm, actually, I did get beaten up. Not today, but some weeks ago, before ... things. Michael, Uriel and Sandalphon cornered me and Uriel hit me. I would like to have this assault put under investigation. Angels should not result to physical violence.«

Gabriel drew his eyebrows together. »They did? How very inappropriate. Inquiry accepted, I will talk to them.«

»Yes. Right. Thank you.« Maybe he would at least get some justice.

Gabriel leaned against a bookshelf. »All right then.« He smiled widely. »Was that all you wanted to talk about?«

Aziraphale wrought his hands. »Not exactly ... I would like to talk to you about my work for head office.«

~~<§Ö§>~~

Crowley was woken up by a strong angelic presence. In one fluent motion he got out of Aziraphale’s bed and sniffed. He was aware that he was in an angel’s most holy place, but he knew Aziraphale’s presence and this was different.

Crowley was immediately worried. By the intensity of the holiness, it had to be an archangel! He put on his glasses and jacket, hurried towards the door and tried to open it. It didn’t move. Crowley looked at it incredulously. Only now he noticed the energy that was radiating off it. Someone had locked the door. He tried to work against the energy, but with no luck. Shit. He needed to get to Aziraphale and he had to be quick.

Without another thought, Crowley rushed towards a small window. He fought with the bolts and when he finally managed to open it, he scrambled onto the nightstand, squeezed himself through the tiny opening and fell out headfirst. He landed very awkwardly in the bushes below, loosing his glasses and scratching hands and ankles. He didn’t care. Quickly, he untangled himself from the plants, scooped up his glasses and made his way to the backdoor, which opened at a snap of his fingers.

Inside, he heard voices. One was unmistakably Aziraphale’s, the other one was deeper, calmer. Crowley couldn’t place it right away, but he had a pretty good idea who it could be. He burst into the store, intending on barging right in on them, but when the angels came into view, something about their posture made him change his plans at the last minute and take cover behind a shelf instead.

As he had thought, the other angel was Gabriel. He wasn’t attacking Aziraphale though, at least not in a physical way. He was casually leaning against a shelf, his purple eyes fixed on the principality with a curious look.

»All right then.« He saw the archangel smile, a smile so different from Aziraphale’s it was astonishing. »Was that all you wanted to talk about?«

Aziraphale seemed nervous. »Not exactly ... I would like to talk to you about my work for head office.«

Crowley’s mouth fell open. What?

»Is it about the school assignment we gave you? According to your memos there are much more schools in London than I anticipated. I am sorry about that, if you want a different assignment, that’s fine, you’ve done enough, but please contact Uriel for this. And don’t summon us, please.«

»Uh, no, not directly. I mean, yes, there are more schools than even I thought, but that is no problem, I don’t have to travel far. It is something else I wanted to talk about. Something else job related.« Aziraphale rubbed his palms on his trousers.

The demon behind the shelf could not believe his ears. Maybe, he told himself, he got it all wrong. Maybe he misunderstood. It couldn’t possibly be –

»What is there to discuss?« The archangel asked impatiently. »We give you assignments, you complete them. It’s like it always has been.«

So he hadn’t misunderstood. Slowly, Crowley’s hands curled into fists.

Aziraphale was working for heaven behind his back.


	13. Chapter 13

_(In which a new journey begins)_

Aziraphale screwed up his face in inner pain, his hands curled up into fists. »I want to quit.«

The archangel simply stared at him. »What?« He asked eloquently.

»I want to quit,« the principality repeated. »I don’t want to continue working for you or heaven. I am truly grateful that you gave me a second chance. But I can’t do this anymore.«

Gabriel looked at him with the greatest disbelief. Finally he regained his ability to speak. »Is this about the demon? Sunshine, I told you to stay away from him!«

Aziraphale hesitated. His heart was beating fast and his palms were sweaty. He was scared, but he knew what he had to do. »Yes,« he said, »it is. You were right.«

Gabriel blinked. »Well, obviously. I am the archangel Gabriel after all. So why didn’t you take my advice –«

»No,« Aziraphale interrupted him, »this is not what I ... You are not right in every ... You were right about me getting ›native‹ down here. Yes, I enjoy human food and I like to talk. And I ... I do like Crowley. He may be a demon, but he is a _good_ person. And he is my best friend. So, if you want me to continue working for heaven, I would be more than happy to, because I, I _love_ heaven. It’s my home and I sincerely want it to be my side again.

But you expect things from me that I cannot and will not give you. I can’t tolerate you trying to end the world and I can’t cut ties with Crowley. I ... I would rather cease to exist.«

There. He didn’t say it with confidence; on the contrary, he sounded unsure, scared even, and with a century worth of deep sadness, but he said it. Because it was the right thing to do.

Gabriel looked at him in serious confusion. »I ... I don’t understand. Why? How ... You are an angel, _this shouldn’t be possible!_ This demon must have done something to you –«

»I am sorry to disappoint you. But he didn’t do anything, he doesn’t even know I resumed work for head office. This is fully and wholly my decision.«

»You can’t do this!«

»I’m afraid, I can. Hellfire doesn’t hurt me and you said it yourself, the greatest punishment shall continue to be to Fall. As long as the Almighty doesn’t decide I should Fall, you can’t harm me.«

»What _are_ you?«

»I am an angel. But I’m also human. And maybe a tad, just the slightest, teensy-weensy bit demon.«

~~<§Ö§>~~

Gabriel left without another word. He couldn’t understand what had happened. Aziraphale clearly wasn’t an angel anymore, but why hadn’t he Fallen?

Something that didn’t fit neatly into the categories angel, demon or human was against his world view. His angelic mind simply wasn’t capable of accepting it.

But, since he could no longer sustain his beliefs, for the first time he started thinking critically. If angels could be just a little demonic, what did that say about them? Was Aziraphale the only one affected? He had spotted strange behaviours in both Uriel, who had reportedly physically attacked Aziraphale, and Michael, who had collaborated with hell’s head office without permission. And what about himself? He had tried to kill an angel. What did that say about him?

He tried to brush these doubts off, but they stayed in the back of his mind. Nagging. It was just a simple little doubt, just like the one implanted in Aziraphale’s head when he and Crowley had been standing on the wall of Eden and the demon contemplated the severity of Adam’s and Eve’s punishment.

Maybe the archangel would get over this doubt. But maybe, when the conditions were right and he interacted with the right people, in six thousand years he would find himself being a better person.

If Aziraphale knew all of this, he would have hoped for it.

~~<§Ö§>~~

From his hideout behind the shelf, Crowley gaped at the angel. His glasses had slipped all the way down to the end of his nose and he squinted over them, his mouth hung open. He couldn’t believe what he had just heard.

Aziraphale had told the archangel Gabriel that Crowley was his best friend. That he would rather die than be without him.

He felt light, like a helium balloon, and the sweet pain in his chest was back, more powerful than ever. It made a very small part of him feel uncomfortable, but for the first time, he didn’t fight against it. He kept staring at the angel, who was brushing his hands against his vest, slowly turning in a circle, looking rather lost. His face showed sadness, but also a certain calmness, as though an immense weight had been taken off his shoulders.

Crowley would probably have stood there motionless and open-mouthed for an eternity, if his glasses hadn’t slipped of his nose and clattered to the floor.

Aziraphale spun around: »Hello? Is somebody there?«

Crowley stepped from the shadows. The angel’s eyes widened. »Crowley! How – I thought you were ...«

»Still in your bedroom, ‘cause you locked the door? I noticed a strong angelic presence, the door was miraculously locked, I immediately searched for a different way.«

»And how –«

»I was a snake, angel. I just ... slithered my way through the cracks.«

»Oh. I am sorry for locking you in.« He pursed his lips. »What did you ...?«

»I heard everythin’.«

»Oh. My dear, I am so sorry. I know I should have told you I was working for head office again, I just wanted it so badly and I knew you would hate it –« He looked rueful and distraught.

Crowley interrupted him with a held up hand and a shake of his head. »It’s okay. I also heard what you did in the end.«

Aziraphale just shrugged, the same look still on him.

»I, um, I just want to tell you somethin’.«

Fear crept into the angel’s eyes. »What is it, my dear?«

Crowley could hear his blood rushing in his ears. His throat was tight and his mouth dry as sandpaper, but if the angel had been brave, he had to be brave, too. And when he opened his mouth, it was actually really easy. »I love you.«

For a moment, Aziraphale stared at him with utter surprise, then his face softened and the tiniest smile tugged at his lips. »I love you, too.«

He leaned in and Crowley closed his eyes. When their lips touched it felt better than ever before. As he buried his hands in the angel’s hair and felt his hands on his waist, the butterflies in his stomach started throwing the biggest party yet and the sweetness of Aziraphale’s taste surged through him like holy water. A part of him still panicked and he couldn’t stop the hair from rising in the back of his neck.

But that was okay, because he still loved every second of their kiss and he didn’t pull away, just like Aziraphale had stood up to Gabriel, regardless of how insecure he actually was. Because life is a journey and there is always room to improve. Crowley and Aziraphale were willing to work on their flaws and that way they could love each other for who they already were. Life is a journey, with good moments and bad ones, and the angel and the demon would continue on theirs.

Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! Thanks everyone for more than 100 kudos! It makes me very happy :)


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